Roswell Fanatics

Chapter 10

Max POV

They don’t let me in to see her and honestly that fact makes me a little crazy. I’m not family. She listed me as her emergency contact but I’m not family so I can’t be allowed into the ICU. I’ve been pretty vocal with my unhappiness over that fact, too. The nurses are probably debating on whether or not they should buzz security over my behavior but I can’t help it. I only caught a glimpse of her before they wheeled her upstairs for surgery but she was…barely recognizable. The only thing that had saved her was her helmet, thank God…but it didn’t save him.

I don’t think about that now. It’s too much to contemplate and I’ve already got enough I’m dealing with. Thankfully, the gang is on their way. When I called them and told them about the accident no further words had been needed. Beyond battle lines and angry words and side taking they were going to be here for Liz…they were going to see her through her recovery.

And she will recover. She has to. I’m not letting myself think anything to the contrary though there’s a sick knot of fear in my stomach right now. She had looked so broken when I saw her…beyond repair. Even the doctor said that the fact she survived the surgery was a miracle. A miracle. I shudder at the thought. As angry as I am with her and as disappointed as I am I’ve never wanted her to die and the thought that she still might is paralyzing.

I can’t help but laugh inwardly at the irony. It seems my world has turned upside down again. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, which is ironic before hours before that phone call, I firmly believed I had my head on straight again.

For the past few days I’ve been kicking myself over my stupidity, my inability to move on. Getting stupidly drunk had been the culmination of that inability but really the despair is so hard to shake. It’s a daily struggle…endless…

Conversely, Liz has seemingly had no trouble moving on and there’s part of me, the part I don’t really want to acknowledge, that hates her for it. I’m not talking about mere anguish but out and out pure hatred, to the point where I’m consumed with the need to hurt her like she’s hurt me. It keeps me awake at night when my sorrow doesn’t. How could she be happy, laughing, shacking up with the very man who split us apart in the first place when I was…dead inside? Didn’t she fucking care?

When I went to Baltimore last weekend the trip had been a thoughtless, desperate move, pure and simple. I really hadn’t known what I would do when I saw her again…I had simply needed to see her. I didn’t want her to simply shrug off what she’d done. Why should she flitter off happily into the night while I had to pick up all the broken pieces, while I had to battle daily to regain my self-worth? I was eaten alive with the need to make some sense of my life again and, in the past, whenever I’ve tried to do that Liz has always been the key.

I foolishly thought seeing her again would make things better. Maybe I didn’t want to think otherwise but I’d made up my mind that I would even speak to her. I was simply going to make sure she was safe. I was merely going to say goodbye to her finally in my heart. But, on some level, I’d known I was lying to myself and ultimately it all blew up in my face.

I saw them together. It was one thing to know she was with someone else, but to see the evidence with my own eyes… They had been smiling, trading laughing kisses just outside her apartment door and it had been like a kick in the gut. I felt sick with jealousy and hatred. The numbed feeling in my chest had given way to brutal pain all over again. I had gone home to drink myself into oblivion.

Yet, even seeing them together had done nothing to bring home the reality that Liz had left me flat, that I no longer mattered to her as a husband or a lover. I was just someone she used to know. My reaction wasn’t wholly unlike the night when Liz came home to tell me about the affair in the first place. What a surreal moment that had been. Even to this day I wonder if that conversation was something I conjured up in my head or if Liz had really said and meant all those painful things.

At the time I registered that the words were coming out of her mouth, I knew what she was saying but the possibility just seemed too fucking unbelievable. Liz, my Liz would not cheat on me. Such a betrayal to our vows, our love was inconceivable. She would never, could never hurt me that way. It simply didn’t gel, didn’t make an ounce of sense. And yet…she had. She had betrayed me. She had desecrated our vows. She had, indeed, left me flat. I was in such shock over the very realization that when she came back later to ask for the divorce none of it had seemed real. I could not believe she meant it. Sometimes I still don’t.

Everything unfolded so quickly I barely had the time to take it in. First she was cheating, then she was leaving and then we were divorcing. Just like that and she was gone. Blow after emotional blow and each one was more painful than the last. I thought the pain would kill me. I spent literal weeks just reeling over it. Who am I kidding? I’m still reeling. I’m still asking myself everyday, “Is this real? Is this happening?” I’m still stuck in this bubble of suspended disbelief and I can’t function, can’t breathe, can’t think because the world doesn’t make sense anymore.

Consequently, I go back and forth with my feelings. There are some days when I loathe her, when the thought of seeing her face again just sickens me. And then there are the worse days, when I’m literally aching to see her. When my pride doesn’t matter a damn and I have to stifle the urge to call her and beg her to come back to me. Those times are the worse because I know she doesn’t share that same ache for me and my desire for what we had makes me nothing more than a pathetic fool. Then…I hate her all over again for putting me in such a position to begin with. It’s a vicious, painful and exhausting cycle and I can’t seem to get myself out of the loop.

I’ve been considering Michael’s suggestion to quit my jobs and move to Detroit with him and Maria. I need a fresh start and I know it, but the masochist in me won’t let me stray too far. I must, instead, torture myself with my ex-wife’s nearness while mentally berating myself for all the things I did to drive her away in the first place. Not that I even know what half those things are. I do know I neglected her but I never imagined it was so bad that she would turn to someone else.

After my ridiculous behavior last week I knew a change was needed and I stopped holding Michael off about my answer. When I think of how disgustingly pitiable I almost make myself sick with the remembrance. But the definite kick in the head had been when I followed her to the door after pretty much laying my heart at her feet and watched her drive off into the night with him. The very next day I put in my two weeks notice and put the house on the market. I was done.

That particular gut wrenching moment was necessary because I finally accepted what I’ve been denying, hoping against, hiding from all these months. Liz and I are over. She is never coming back to me and, what’s more telling than that, I don’t think I want her back. Not anymore. And I was fully prepared to wash my hands of her completely when I received the phone call.

Now I’m back to vacillating again. Not on whether Liz and I can make a go of it again because I fully don’t believe that’s possible anymore but over whether I can cut her out of my life as thoroughly as I’d planned. She will need someone as she recovers. I know I could probably leave that responsibility to Maria but I don’t want to. I know if our positions were reversed Liz would care for me. The other night proved that in spades. Now I can do this thing for her, but when she’s better…I’m done.

All these thoughts are basically playing through my mind as I pace the length of the lobby when Maria, Michael, Kyle and Isabel all arrive in a breathless crowd within seconds of each other. “What happened?” Maria asks, not bothering with a greeting at all but I’m not offended by her brusque forwardness.

“Apparently, he lost control of his bike,” I recount, giving them the same story I’ve been told, “They flipped and Liz was thrown.”

“And the guy…” Michael prods tentatively.

“He got crushed beneath the bike,” I reveal grimly.

Isabel emits a small, whimpering sound and moves forward to take me into her arms while Maria falls back as if she’s just taken a punch to the mid-section. “Are you saying he’s dead, Max?” she wheezes. I nod gravely. “Oh my God…it’s going to kill her,” she mumbles, belatedly realizing her mistake when I shrug out Isabel’s arms with a wince of pain. “I’m…I’m so sorry, Max,” Maria whispers, “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” I say, “None of that matters right now.”

“What about Liz?” Kyle asks quietly, “Where is she now?”

“They just brought her down from surgery,” I tell them, “Her neck’s broken. She’s still unconscious.” Another round of horrified gasps go up as they digest that dire news and I sympathize. I’ve been gasping for breath inside ever since I found out, too.

“But you can heal her right,” Maria bursts out desperately, “You can heal her and she’ll be fine…right?”

“I can’t even get in to see her right now, Maria,” I lament, “Only immediate family is allowed in and they already know I’m her ex-husband.”

“So why’d they call you in the first place?” Kyle wonders.

“I’m Liz’s emergency contact,” I explain gruffly, “I guess she never thought to change it after…well…after the divorce.”

“I’ll go in to see her,” Maria announces. She shouldn’t have a problem doing that sense she and Liz often posed as sisters when we were on the run. “I’ll try to work something out for the rest of you.”

As I watch Maria start down the long corridor towards the ICU, Isabel comes to stand along side of me. “God, Max…” she utters, “I hate to see you this way.”

I twist my lips into an ironic smile. I forget this is the first time my sister has seen me in some time. I can’t imagine what a shock my appearance must be, scraggly beard, longish hair and tremendous weight loss, nothing of the twenty-three year old man she’d last seen. If I know Isabel she’s kicking herself for not coming to me sooner.

“Don’t,” I say softly, reading the thoughts behind her eyes, “I wanted to be alone. I didn’t need you all hovering and pitying me.”

“It’s not pity, Maxwell,” Michael says, “We love you. You got a raw deal.”

“I’m handling it.”

“No, you aren’t,” she counters in a whisper, “You’re torturing yourself and I can’t stand it. We can stay, Max. Why don’t you go find a motel for the night and crash? I promise to call you when Liz can have visitors.”

“I’m not leaving her,” I reply wearily.

“You can’t help.”

“I’m not leaving,” I say again, this time with a definite edge.

“Max, Isabel’s right. Don’t do this to yourself,” Michael says tiredly.

“Am I just supposed to leave her alone?” I cry.

“We’ll be here,” Kyle offers quietly, “What you need to do is definitely distance yourself from the situation….at least for a couple of hours. Think some stuff out, take a rest, then come back. You’re on emotional overload right now.”

“Yeah, Max. Listen to Kyle…” Isabel agreed, “How long have you been here anyway?”

Minus the two hours it took me to drive up to the city I’ve been haunting the hospital corridors for the last thirteen hours. However, I have no intention of telling Isabel that. “I haven’t been here long,” I lie smoothly.

“What about food?” my sister carries on solicitously, “Are you hungry? We can go down to the cafeteria for a bite.”

“Isabel, don’t hover over me,” I snap back sharply. But I immediately regret my irritated tone when her lower lip starts to quiver. “I’m sorry… I just…I don’t want to leave. What if Liz wakes up while I’m gone? Someone needs to tell her about…about him.”

“And you think that person should be you?” Michael considers dubiously, “Max, you can’t even bring yourself to say the man’s name! How are you supposed to tell Liz that he’s dead, huh?”

“And are you really going to be able to deal with the anguish she’s definitely going to feel over his death?” Isabel interjects brutally, “The man she left you for? Are you gonna be able to watch her cry over him?”

I know they mean well but my friends are steadily, if unconsciously, chipping away at the remains of my fragile self-esteem. Don’t they see I’m hanging on by a thread? I’m trying hard to do the right thing when I don’t even know what that is anymore. To my horror I can feel myself coming pathetically close to tears and I have to turn away from them before I make an even bigger fool of myself.

“We’ll look after her,” Isabel whispers in promise, smoothing a comforting hand down my spine, “Don’t stay here and torture yourself, Max. Please… I can’t stand it.”

My vision is blurred and burning when I regard her because, honestly, I can’t stand it either. It doesn’t take a whole lot of effort to nod my agreement at her offer. But then I tack on pitiably, “I don’t want to be alone.” When we’re in my car and on our way toward a quick meal and the nearest motel I ask the question that’s been burning in my soul since I learned the details of Liz’s accident. “Do you think it was supposed to work out this way, Iz?”

“What way?”

“That he died,” I clarify gruffly, “That Liz is alone now…like me.”

“I don’t think one has to do with the other, Max.”

“Well, maybe--,”

“Leave her alone, Max,” Isabel advises wearily, “Whatever you’re thinking right now…just stop it! Your life isn’t going to fall apart just because Liz isn’t in it!”

“It already has,” I mumble.

Isabel flicks me with a steely look full of disappointment and heartache. “Only because you’ve let it,” she snaps, “My God…when Liz gets better…if she tries to come back and…God! If you take her back, Max…after what she’s done…I don’t know…” She falters into silence, obviously having a difficult time voicing her scattered thoughts but she’s determined just the same. Finally after a few frustrated huffs she says, “Just don’t take her back, Max.”

“What makes you think she’s going to come back to me in the first place?”

“I always knew she would come back,” Isabel replies crisply, “Even if this accident hadn’t happened Liz wouldn’t have stayed with him. I fully believe that everything she did with that guy was ultimately about you and proving to herself that she was over you. But when she ended it, and she would have ended it, that would have been about you, too. But she doesn’t deserve you, Max. Not anymore.”

It’s not so cut and dried. I know there are things I could have done to save my marriage before it was past resuscitation but I closed my eyes. On some level, I know I took for granted Liz’s understanding and patience and loyalty and, eventually, she just ran out of all those things. I tapped her dry. I’ve tried to explain all this to Isabel time and again but she just thinks I’m excusing Liz’s behavior. But I’m not. I’m merely pointing out my contribution to this whole sordid mess.

Rather than arguing with her though, I stare out the window and look towards the setting sun, deliberately collecting my thoughts before speaking again. “I’m not going to take her back,” I tell Isabel, giving her the reassurance she’s been waiting for, “I can’t trust her anymore. It’s funny…as much as I’ve wanted her to come back, as much as part of me still does…I know that it will never be the same between us.” I glance over at Isabel then, so she can see the sincerity in my eyes for herself and know that I mean every word. “I’m just going to stick it out long enough to heal her and then I’m done. It’s over between us. I just want to get on with my life.”

And I realize with some surprise that I really mean it this time. They aren’t just words spoken to appease my family and friends. I’m tired of the struggle, the hurt and the constant self-loathing. I’m ready to move on.

I’m ready to live again.

Chapter 11

She’s asleep when I arrive the next morning. I stare down at her swollen, bruised face and I ache, not only because of her mangled appearance but because I feel so disconnected from her now. Once upon a time I might have stroked my fingers through her hair as she slept but now I can’t bring myself to touch her. Not because I don’t want to but because now I can no longer be sure how my touch will be received.

I glance over at Maria where she sits curled in the chair near the window, her eyes swollen and bloodshot from crying. “Does she know?” I ask quietly. Maria nods a jerky affirmative. “How did she take it?”

“Not good.” My heart squeezes a bit over her reply but I suck it up. In my head I imagine Liz screaming over the news, probably crying herself into fitful sleep and it hurts. It hurts to know she’s mourning over this man and her pain, ironically, spurs my own. But I won’t concentrate on that. I can’t. I’ve come here for a specific purpose and there’s no need putting it off any longer. But as I start to lay my hands against Liz, Maria cries out a shaky, “Don’t, Max!”

I jerk backwards, startled. “What?”

“She doesn’t want you to.”

I have to shake my head because I couldn’t have heard her right. Liz has a myriad of broken bones, most serious is the cracked vertebrae in her neck. Healing isn’t an option in my opinion. It’s a necessity. “What did you say?”

“She doesn’t want you to heal her,” Maria reiterates in a miserable whisper.

“Did you explain to her that her neck is broken?” I demand stridently, “Maria, she might not walk again!”

“I told her,” she says gruffly, “I told her all of it and she still said no.”

“She said no?” I utter this incredulously because I can’t wrap my mind around it at all. “She said no? Are you sure you explained--,”

“I explained and explained,” Maria interrupts, “It doesn’t matter. She said that you’ve done enough for her and that she doesn’t want to take anything else from you.”

God, that hurts. Not simply because Liz would refuse the healing but because I know she’s isolating herself right now, punishing herself. I’ve been there and done that and as angry as I am watching Liz suffer this way won’t bring me satisfaction or joy. I refuse to let her atone with her health. I refuse to let her sacrifice her livelihood just to prove her remorse.

“It’s her grief talking,” I reply with certainty, “Later she’ll be glad I did.”

But as I start to touch Liz again another, “Don’t!” stops me cold, this time from Liz herself. She’s awake now and looking up at me with vacant brown eyes that are glazed over with pain and morphine. “I don’t…want you to…” she rasps. Her words are barely distinguishable, as if she’s swallowed broken glass but I easily discern she’s confirming what Maria has already told me and I shake my head negative in response.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” I tell her.

“My…choice…” The words appear to tax her but despite that I can still detect the determination in her tone. Even half doped and probably in the worst pain of her life Liz is going to fight me. And I’m going to fight right back.

“You don’t know what you’re saying right now, Liz,” I insist gently, “This is your pain talking right now.”

“No…Max…”

“Liz…” I whisper, horrified when I realize that she’s closing herself off from all logical argument, “Liz, you’re not thinking this thing through.” She simply shuts her eyes in response to that, as if that alone will shut out my words. But I can tell she’s affected, emotional…despite her refusal she knows what this could mean for her. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes, meandering down her tempers before disappearing into her pillow. Yet, even though she’s scared and uncertain I realize Liz is still going to refuse me. “Liz, please reconsider--,”

“Go…” she interrupts hoarsely, “…I’m tired…”

I don’t really have the opportunity to argue with her, don’t even have time to debate on whether it’s worth trying because Maria plucks me by the elbow and all but drags me out of the hospital room. “I think that you should go back to Detroit with Michael,” she says when we emerge outside the swishing hospital door, “I’ll stay here with Liz while she recuperates.”

“Recuperates?” I hiss dubiously, “Maria, she can’t walk! She can’t move. I can make all that better if she’ll just let me.”

“She says no, Max.”

“And she’s not thinking clearly,” I whisper tightly, “You know she’s not.”

“It’s her decision,” Maria replies in a hoarsened tone, “You just have to accept it.”

“I don’t get it!” I rant under my breath, “Why? Why won’t she let me help her? Why is she suddenly pulling this masochist crap?”

“It’s not that,” Maria protests faintly.

“Then what the hell is it? I can’t just leave her like that.”

“She doesn’t want you to see.”

“See?” I snap, “See what? What am I supposed to see, Maria?” But then it dawns on me a second after I make the irritated inquiry. The flashes. Liz doesn’t want me to connect with her because she doesn’t want me to see what’s inside her. She doesn’t want me to see her with him.

I fall back from Maria with a hitching gasp, my stomach dipping when she says, “Yeah…exactly. She doesn’t want you to see those things, Max. She doesn’t want you to be hurt.”

I can’t tell her that Liz is wrong about that. The prospect of seeing them together, of experiencing Liz’s feelings for him is a nauseating one but I’m willing to push past my anguished reluctance to help Liz regardless. It’s not a matter of mental debate for me. Just a fact. I won’t hesitate to help her…even if it hurts. “Doesn’t matter,” I mutter stubbornly, “I know she slept with him. It’s not like I’ll be surprised.”

“You might,” Maria insists quietly, “Liz told me some things, Max, about her and Gavin and…. There are certain things that she doesn’t want you to know about, things that would hurt you deeply… She thinks it would be better for her to deal with this on her own and…I have to agree.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s what she wants,” Maria whispers, “She needs to do this, Max.”

“Not at the expense of her heath, she doesn’t,” I cry, “If she doesn’t want me to know that she loved him…well…I think I’ve already figured out that part on my own.”

Maria shakes her head and I can tell she’s growing irritated with my obdurate determination. “Just let it go, Max,” she advises, “Let her do this in her own way!”

“No.”

“She doesn’t want your help, damnit!” Maria snaps in a flash of impatience, “Don’t push her right now, Max. She’s in hell.”

“So am I,” I fling back angrily.

Maria closes her eyes, struggling with her composure and I realize for the first time how close to tears she is. “I’ve never seen her like this, Max,” she weeps harshly, “It’s like she doesn’t even care anymore. And you were right…she did love him …”

I flinch over the revelation despite my earlier bravado. God, that hurts. Liz sleeping with another was a hard enough blow but that her heart got involved…that she loved him… Even with Tess love never entered the equation. It was self-pity sex, a means to feel better about myself but it never meant anything. I didn’t want it to mean anything to Liz either, as if it would help matters to know she still loved me even while she was sleeping with another man.

“…I gave her such a hard time about it,” Maria continues, seemingly unaware of my pain, “I thought she was just throwing away her chance with you for someone who wouldn’t matter in the long run but… He mattered to her a lot.”

I swallow back the hot tears rising in my throat. “Why are you telling me this, Maria?”

“He was really young, Max…” Maria whispers sorrowfully, “Really young to die…”

Something about the way she says that makes my stomach roll in sickening waves. “How young are we talking about here?” I ask in a careful whisper, “What? Early twenties…mid…”

“Liz said he’d just turned twenty about a month and a half ago.”

The revelation hits me like a blow to the chest. Air leaks from my lungs in a painful wheeze as I struggle for breath; struggle to wrap my mind around the implication of it all. My wife left me for a man, and I’m being generous with the term, nine years my junior. It’s unbelievable. Liz left me for a kid? A kid? I don’t know whether to curse or cry at this point. “Well, fuck me…” I mutter, “I figured he was young but I thought he’d be old enough to shave at least.”

“You see,” Maria bites out tersely, “That’s exactly why you don’t need to be around her right now. You’re too damned bitter to see things objectively.”

“Damned straight!” I toss back, “She fucking ruined our marriage for a twenty year old kid!” I snort a choking sound of disgust when something else dawns on me right then. “You said he had just recently turned twenty,” I reason bitterly, “Which means she started fucking him when he was nineteen! Unbelievable!”

“If you’re going to judge her then maybe you should just leave, Max.”

“Judge her?” I snort, “Oh that’s a laugh, Maria! I’m judging her now? All I ever wanted to do was love her! That’s all I’ve ever done!”

“We both know that’s not all you did, Max,” Maria reminds me quietly, “Let’s not forget Tess. Let’s not forget how you fucking abandoned her after Alex died! Let’s not forget how you constantly put her on the back burner to find your son! And you never stopped doing it, Max, not even after we left Roswell. You never stopped!”

“That’s not fair,” I whisper, “You, of all people, know how much I loved Liz.”

“Then why didn’t you show it,” she spits in angry pain. Her accusation leaves me stunned and shaking in the aftermath. “Look…when Liz left you I had your back, Max. I think it was wrong what she did…to cheat like she did and walk out on you. I couldn’t even recognize her and I’ve never condoned her actions, but…I saw it coming. Even when we were all together still you took Liz for granted. You…you just expected her to be there when you needed someone but where were you when she needed someone, huh? She had to turn to me and Isabel for support but where the fuck were you?”

“I was trying to keep us safe,” I reply furiously, “We were on the run for our lives, remember? Somebody had to take charge.”

“And of course you had to take it all upon yourself,” is Maria’s sardonic reply, “which left little to no time for Liz. But I guess she was just supposed to understand…being an alien king’s wife and all.”

I have to believe Maria’s been storing this embittered rage inside for quite some time now. Her face is flushed an angry red and her eyes are flashing brightly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this upset, not even at Michael. She could probably slug me quite happily at this moment. I wisely take a step back from her.

“I’m trying to help her now,” I say in a softer tone, “I just want to heal her, Maria.”

“She doesn’t want anything else from you, Max,” Maria replies tiredly, “She doesn’t want to owe you anymore and maybe that’s for the best.”

“She’s hurt,” I protest in vain, “She needs help.”

“Not yours.”

“How is she supposed to heal then?”

“The old fashioned way, Max,” Maria sighs, “With time. The same thing you need. She’ll need to have months of physical therapy to recover the full use of her extremities but she’s hopeful. We both are.”

“And if she never walks again?” I consider grimly.

Maria whisks away the tears clinging to her lashes. “That’s her choice.”

I’m seriously close to breaking down emotionally here. From sorrow to anger and back to sorrow again. Liz still manages to put me through the emotional wringer and we’re not even together anymore. My heart goes out to her, knowing what deep, dark place she’s in because I’ve been there, too. Ironically, she’s the one who put me there. Unfortunately, I can’t risk going in to save her without being pulled back into the darkness myself. I know that what Maria is telling me is the right thing. I have to distance myself from Liz, for her sake but, most of all, for mine.

“Michael leaves on a plane to go back home tonight,” Maria tells me, “Be on it with him, Max. Start over again. Leave Liz alone.”

“You’re staying to take care of her,” I conclude glumly.

“For as long as she’ll let me.”

“Can I say goodbye to her?” Maria considers the question for a long, tense moment before she finally steps aside from the door and lets me enter. When I step inside I’m not surprised to find Liz crying and her tears prompt my own. She quickly squeezes her eyes shut as if that will conceal her obvious pain but her face is still a contorted mask of anguish. I regard her through the blur my tears have created.

“I…thought…you left…” she whispers as I advance closer.

“I am leaving,” I confirm softly, “I’m going with Michael when he leaves for Detroit tonight.”

“…Maria…told…me…”

“I probably won’t be back.”

“I know…”

“I just wanted to give you one last opportunity, Liz…” I say desperately, “You can change your mind. Let me help you.”

“I’ll…do it…on…my own…”

“Liz, I’m sorry for your pain,” I mumble, my words strangled with tears, “I didn’t want for this to happen to you…to us….” She’s crying in earnest now and every instinct I have screams at me to touch her, to comfort her, to take away the hurt, but I don’t. I can’t. We’re so beyond that now. “If the physical therapy doesn’t work out, Liz…if you don’t fully recover…I want you to call me.”

“I…won’t…” she answers wearily, “…but…thank you, Max…”

God, this is hard! I blink back my tears but they fall anyway, slipping down my cheeks in a continuous stream. “I don’t want to leave you this way,” I weep openly, “I hate that it has to be this way.”

She actually smiles at that. “I won’t hold…it against you, Max,” she whispers as she drifts off into drug-induced sleep, “Go be happy.”

Chapter 12

I’ve taken business trips all over the country and even a few out of it but when I received my assignment for Baltimore, Maryland I literally started to shake with anticipation and dread. My company has just built a new plant there and as Cost Efficiency Supervisor I must make sure that the parent company’s money is being well spent. But this particular business trip I’m not thinking about my job and the half dozen presentations I’ll be giving. I’m thinking about Liz Parker, my ex-wife.

I have not seen her in eight years, not since that day in the hospital and the leaving was hard. The fact that she refused the healing stayed with me for a long time. I experienced the usual stages of guilt and grief and it took me the longest time to get over it and her…if I really ever did. The fact that my heart did a wild pitty pat the moment my boss gave me my assignment just proves she’s not completely out of my system.

Since that time I’ve heard Liz mentioned in secondhand conversations between Kyle and Maria, but no one ever talks about her to me directly. I have to think it’s the same for her when I’m being discussed. We just don’t go there. Despite our same circle of friends and even the years of history between us, Liz and I are like perfect strangers these days. However, that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring about her.

Following my move to Detroit I hounded Michael almost every day for an update on Liz’s recovery. When Maria finally returned home, six months after Liz’s accident, with the announcement that Liz was on her way back to healing I felt as if a tremendous weight of anxiety had been lifted from my shoulders. After that I made a conscious point of not thinking about Liz Parker at all.

It was a difficult accomplishment. In the beginning I shut off my emotions as purely a defense mechanism. I couldn’t think of Liz without pain, shame or anger so I just threw myself into life in Detroit. I found every possible means of keeping myself busy that I could. I hadn’t even been in the city a full day before I began hitting the pavement for a job. I was fortunate enough to find a position, which led to three promotions, which led to my becoming a supervisor over an entire department. Boy, how life can change drastically in eight years. Now I’m currently on my way to another promotion, which will place me directly under my boss.

Naturally, I’m filled with confidence and self-assurance over all my accomplishments. I’m young. I’m successful. I’ve got an active social life, even if I don’t have a steady girlfriend. My family and friends all surround me like a protective cocoon. And recently, with the abatement of the FBI threat, Isabel and I have been able to see our parents again. All in all my life has become one of intense contentment and satisfaction. That is…until my boss assigns me with the responsibility of overseeing the finances of our plant in Baltimore and all my self-confidence is shaken to its core.

Now I’m under no obligation to see her. I know this. Baltimore is a big city. The chances of running into her during the three days I’m there are slim to none. But that’s not what has me worried. A chance meeting is actually the thing I’m hoping for because, despite everything that’s happened and all the hurt that passed between us, I want to see her again. I’m undeniably curious about how she’s up to these days. Too curious. That's how I know with certainty that the idea is a bad one.

My front doorbell sounds and I go skidding through the living room in a mad dash for the front door. I’m only mildly surprised when I yank it open and find Maria standing on my front porch. Since moving here she’s appointed herself as my personal protector. I admit somewhere in my secret heart that I’m glad she has.

“I’m leaving in two hours, Maria,” I announce indulgently, leaning into the doorframe as I regard her with a subdued expression, “What are you doing here?”

She scowls at me. “You weren’t expecting one of your bimbos, were you?”

“My bimbos?” I sputter in a laugh. Maria has an express problem with my casual dating but considering I view committed relationship as the kiss of death at this point in my life she’s just going to have to get over it.

“Yeah, who’s the newest one?” she demands, shrugging past me into the house without waiting for an invite. “Um…let’s see…what’s her name again? Cookie, Candy…”

“Carrie,” I provide with wry smirk as I close the door behind her, “Her name is Carrie and I happen to think she’s a very interesting girl.”

“She’s a nitwit,” Maria declares flatly.

“As usual your candor is greatly appreciated,” I retort with ill-concealed sarcasm, “So you’ve yet to answer my question. What are you doing here, Maria?”

“I’m here to help you pack,” she answers glibly, already making a beeline back for my bedroom. She knows she can take such liberties and I won’t get on her case about it. God, she’s obnoxious but I love her for it. When I join her in my bedroom she’s already pawing through the items in my suitcase and clucking her disappointment. “You’ve only packed two changes of clothes,” she observes with a frown, “That’s hardly enough.”

“I’ll only be there for three days, Maria,” I remind her, slipping on my watch before gathering together my plane ticket and carry on, “I think I’ve got it all under control.”

“Nope, I don’t think you do,” Maria counters, “You could at least take an outfit for each day. What is it about you men and your minimalist packing? Michael does the same thing and then almost always runs out of underwear whenever we go someplace. And then he’s like, ‘Babe, why didn’t you make me take more?’ It’s frustrating.”

I cross the room to press a dutiful kiss to her temple. “I love you too, sweetheart,” I murmur indulgently.

Maria is nesting so I forgive her for her insistent nagging and generally crabby demeanor. Once the Federal threat had been lifted from over our heads she and Michael hadn’t wasted any time starting their family. Now four kids later and with a fifth on the way, the Guerin brood is growing by leaps and bounds and I have got plenty of nieces and nephews to spoil. So, having experienced Maria’s wild mood swings on many occasion before, I’ve learned how to handle her almost as well as Michael. I simply let her be right about everything.

But honestly, her pregnancies are as much a joy as they are annoying. I live vicariously through her and Michael’s experiences in parenthood and marriage, watching with a fair amount of envy as they thrive. I’m definitely happy for them but sometimes I can’t help but wonder why it didn’t work out that way for Liz and me.

“Hey, I’ll bring something back for the kids,” I promise, as she shoves me away to raid my closet. When her back is turned I sneak over to the bed to remove the two new pairs of slacks she’s deposited into my suitcase. She hardly notices. She’s got her nose buried in my closet and is chattering on like a magpie.

“Don’t you dare bring them back a thing,” she tells me presently, extracting two shirts and heading back over towards my bag, “Between you and Liz they are all spoiled rotten.” She ends her comment with a puzzled frown when she realizes the pants she stuffed into my bag are no longer there. “Funny…I thought I packed these,” she mutters to herself, quickly remedying the situation, “Oh well…”

I roll my eyes. “Maria, I don’t want to take all this stuff,” I protest, “I’m only going to be there for three days and even then I’ll be tied up in business meetings. I don’t need it.”

“Hush,” she admonishes, “Besides if it were left up to you, you’d probably spend the next three days in the clothes you’re in right now and that just won’t do. You want to look your best when you see Liz again.”

“Ahh,” I surmise knowingly, propping my back against the face of my dresser as I regard her, “So now we get to the heart of it, don’t we?”

“What?” she asks in feigned innocence.

“Exactly how long have you been planning this, oh manipulative one?”

“Planning what?” she brazens, going to work on my shoes now. She pulls out a separate bag altogether for them and I just sigh as she stuffs in several pairs. So much for light packing. “Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it,” she charges as she packs. Maria pauses for a moment to level me with a penetrating look. “I know you want to see her.”

“That’s not the point,” I argue in vain, “I don’t like it when you make these little plans for me. They never work out.”

“She wants to see you.”

I shake my head with a chagrined laugh. “Now there’s no way I’m believing that.” Taking into consideration that Liz and I didn’t part on the best terms, we couldn’t even be defined as friends around that time; I seriously doubt she’s given me a second thought.

“Fine, don’t believe me,” Maria says with a shrug, “But how would you ever know for sure if you didn’t see for yourself. You might be surprised.”

“I’m sorry but aren’t you the same person who warned me to stay away from Liz in the first place,” I remind her dryly, “Now I’ve done that. We haven’t had any contact with each other in years. She’s living her life and I’m living mine and now you’re on my case because I’m not going to see her. Maria, make up your mind.”

“Stop being an ass! The point was for you and Liz to take some time apart to find yourselves,” she clarifies glibly, “Now you’ve both done that…more than done that. I never thought you two would avoid each other for the rest of your lives. The very idea is bordering on insane.”

“I must disagree with you,” I reply dryly, “My life is pleasantly lacking chaos at this time. It’s smooth. It’s easy. It’s in my control. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“I’m not saying that the two of you should get something started up,” Maria argues, “We wouldn’t want the cosmos to split wide open or anything. I’m just suggesting that you drop by and say hello, maybe even have coffee together. It would be a shame for you to be in the city and then never see her, Max.”

“Did you ever consider that Liz might have a problem with me dropping in on her out of the blue?” I ask.

That’s really my secret fear. Just in these few minutes of talking to Maria I have been filled with the wild desire to see Liz again. But what if she doesn’t feel the same? What if seeing me just brings back memories she’d rather forget? What if seeing her brings back all the pain I’ve spent these last eight years trying to escape? The possibility for disaster is limitless and almost certain. I’d be a fool to open up that can of worms again and even knowing that I’m horrified to realize I’m considering it. I’m actually considering it…

“The last time I visited her she asked all about you, Max,” Maria says a little too casually, “I think she misses talking to you.” I’m discerning enough to recognize when I’m being baited. Rather than rising to the occasion I merely shrug and turn away to finish gathering up the remainder of my personal items for my trip. “You don’t care?” Maria inquires to my back.

Again I shrug. “It’s just been a while.”

“And you don’t want to see her?” she prods shrewdly.

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“Liar,” she charges softly.

“Maria, did you really come all this way in your delicate condition,” I pause to direct a dubious look at her distended belly, “to browbeat me into seeing Liz?”

“Do you really feel like I’m browbeating you, Max?” she wheedles, “I was just thinking it would be a great opportunity for you guys to mend fences finally since you’d be in the city anyway. It’s not like you’ll be making a special trip or anything. I can’t stand this rift between the two of you anymore.”

“There is no rift,” I insist stubbornly, “We just don’t talk, Maria. I like it that way. I’m sure she does, too.”

Maria is silent for a moment and I can feel her eyes boring into my back as I zip my toiletry bag closed. A few moments later she’s standing behind me and pressing a small, brown package into my hand. “What the hell is this?”

“That’s for Liz,” she tells me.

“So why are you giving it to me?” I ask, frowning my irritation. I don’t really like being bullied and Maria is doing it shamelessly.

“You have two options,” she states succinctly, “You can either drop it off at the post office before you get to the airport or you can deliver it to Liz in person. I’m not pushing you to do one thing or the other. The choice is yours.”

Chapter 13

I spot her weeding the garden out in front of her house the second I round the corner on her block and I almost lose my nerve to stop the car. In reality, I slow the rental to a crawl and park in front of her neighbor’s house because, while I want to see her I’m not ready for her to see me. From the distance I can see nothing but the back of her head and her back as she kneels over her task but my heart picks up speed all the same. She pauses for a moment, rearing back on her knees to swipe her forearm across her sweaty brow and I get a flash of her profile and groan with the ache the sight causes. Good God! She’s more beautiful than I remember. I click the switch to roll down the windows so I can sit in comfort and watch her at length.

She’s wearing her hair very short now and though she presently has it clipped back from her fact I can’t imagine it falls far past her ears when it’s loosed. The change saddens me a bit. I’ve always loved her hair long. But then I notice other things to admire about her instead. My eyes wonder down the length of her body as she bends and straightens. I do like the alluring way her gray sweat pants ride low on her hips. Every time she leans forward I’m afforded with a flash of her trim back. I also can’t help but noticed the lean definition to her delicately tanned arms. She’s obviously been working out.

I derive such enjoyment from watching her it makes me wonder how I’ve gone this long without seeing her. Really, the avoidance hasn’t taken much effort on my part. As a general rule, Liz has strictly shunned all the major milestones in our friends’ lives that would have brought us together otherwise. She wasn’t there for the birth of Maria’s first child, or her second, or her third though she sent plenty of gifts in the meantime. With Kylie’s birth she managed to make it to Maria’s side but only because I was away on a business trip at the time. The day I returned was the very day she left. If I hadn’t known before that I was the reason for her consistent absences then I definitely knew it then.

By the time Kyle and Isabel finally managed to tie the knot no one was surprised when Liz didn’t show. She did, however, send them a marvelous china set and even coordinated and paid for their honeymoon. But she hadn’t dared to put in an appearance. Part of me was glad for it. Seeing her would have been difficult and painful for us both and would have ultimately marred the perfection of the events we were supposed to be celebrating. All in all the arrangement has worked well for everyone these last eight years so I can’t view it as a bad thing completely.

Besides that I know that the distance Liz keeps has as much to do with herself as it does with me. According to Maria, who surprisingly has never held Liz’s absences against her, Liz no longer feels comfortable or welcome in our small circle of friends. It’s easier for her to keep a low profile and stay out of sight then to put them all in a position where they feel they have to choose between the two of us. I understand her logic even while I’m saddened it had to come to that at all. I know Maria well enough to realize she’s tried to convince Liz to the contrary but I know Liz well enough to discern she wasn’t reassured.

I hate that. I absolutely loathe that our personal issues have resulted in her missing these major life events that she should have rightfully shared. I doubly hate the fact that there’s a secret part of me that was glad she did. Before this moment I don’t think I was really ready to see Liz again. If she had come for the births or the wedding our meeting would have been on someone else’s timetable. This way, this particular time I get to choose when we see each other again and on what terms.

But then I consider that, though I’m more than ready to face Liz again, perhaps she’s not ready to face me. Our friends have drummed it into her head again and again that they would welcome her back, that they loved her still and yet Liz has maintained her distance. Even when Kyle and Isabel finally moved to Detroit and Maria sent Liz an invitation to do the same Liz had still remained aloof. I wonder, perhaps, if it’s not an issue of Liz thinking we don’t want her around or of her simply not wanted to be around us anymore.

The thought brings with it a sudden uncertainty. I wonder if my being here is a good idea at all, flimsy excuse or not. After all, Liz has taken special care to disconnect herself from our lives, not just me in particular. There’s every indication that she wants it that way, despite everyone’s reassurances to the contrary. Perhaps she will view my unexpected visit as more of a nuisance than a welcome occurrence. Maybe she’ll even resent me for showing up in the first place. I’m rapidly rethinking the wisdom of this visit.

Decision made, I slowly shift the car into drive, with the full intention of leaving when Liz begins groping around in the grass. A moment later she finds it, a long, metal brace, and she uses it for leverage to push up unsteadily to her feet. As I watch her lean her weight upon the crutch and limp heavily to the edge of her garden to study her handy work my heart flutters up to my throat and lodges there.

Maria had said that Liz made a full recovery from her injuries but she had never once said it was smooth. I had just assumed everything was fine. I hadn’t wanted to believe otherwise. It’s a blow to realize Liz has been left handicapped by the ordeal and a crushing one, too, because I know I could have possibly done something to prevent it.

I’m still drowning in guilt; torn between the mad desire to run and the equally crushing urge to stay when Liz abruptly jerks to attention. For a second I fear that she’s somehow sensed my presence and the decision to stay is about to be taken out of my hands but she doesn’t look over in my direction at all. Instead her concentration is trained fully towards the edge of her driveway and the little boy playing there.

“Gavin!” she cries sharply as he barrels towards the sidewalk on his bicycle. The moment her voices sounds, however, he brakes and his eyes go round with childish innocence. “How many times have I told you about riding so close to the street?” I hear her admonish him from a distance. She says more to him as she limps over to where he is, but the words become muffled, as she gets further away. But I don’t need to know what she’s saying to discern the implication. His lower lip is quivering madly as she scolds him. My heart shatters in my chest though when I watch her remove his protective helmet and begin pressing motherly kisses all over his tear-stained cheeks, smoothing his flattened blond curls back from his forehead as she does.

I feel like I’m dying. Liz has a son. Liz has a son. It’s a crushing realization, a heart-ripping blow. Now her insistence against the healing makes so much sense. Now her eight-year avoidance makes sense. Now it all makes sense. Liz has a son…a living, vibrant reminder of her adultery. She has a son and he’s not mine.

Now I finally know for sure how it killed Liz that night when I told her about Tess’ pregnancy. She must have felt as if I had reached inside her chest and yanked out her still beating heart. I know that’s how I feel right now. The pain is spreading through my limbs at alarming speed, constricting my chest and making it difficult to breathe. And I know I can’t stay. I won’t stay… Coming here was definitely a mistake. Fighting the urge to stomp the gas pedal to the rental and peel out of there, I cruise past Liz’s house sedately, watching in my rearview mirror as she and her son disappear into the house.

I don’t go back to the hotel immediately, but drive aimlessly around the city stewing. Once some of the pain and shock has receded all I can feel is an overwhelming anger. Maria. Damn her. She never said a word, not even a hint. It was the perfect fucking set up. Perhaps she realized that if I knew Liz had a child I wouldn’t go to see her at all. I wouldn’t be surprised knowing how manipulative Maria can be when it comes to having her way.

The small, brown package lies there in my passenger’s seat, mocking me. I check the urge to hurl it out the open car window. Damn Maria for her interference but curse me more for getting sucked back in to begin with! I should have known it would never work out. I should have known better. The moment I find a post office I can’t rid myself of that fucking package fast enough.

When I finally return to my hotel room it’s early evening. After putting in an order for room service I hop into the shower to wash away the weariness of my day, but my heartache remains. I stumble out almost twenty minutes later just in time for the arrival of my food. Once I’ve eaten, hardly tasting any of the food, I look over my accounting sheets in preparation for my morning meeting the next day. Honestly, none of the information penetrates. I can’t get my mind to focus on anything other than the agonizing knowledge that Liz is a mother.

After two hours of feigning concentration I give up and throw the papers aside. I don’t much feel like watching television at this point and going out isn’t an option either. I have no desire to be surrounded by a sea of strangers. I don’t want to be around anyone at all. But then I don’t want to sit here all night and wallow in my misery either. In the end, I decide to check my cell phone messages.

I quickly discover that Maria has called three times and Carrie twice. I’m still too angry to speak to Maria at this point so I dial Carrie’s number instead. I know she’ll provide an enjoyable distraction from the thoughts whirring around in my head.

“What took you so long to call me back?” she asks breathlessly when she picks up.

I smirk over her blunt greeting. “How did you know it was me?”

“Caller i.d, silly.” she says with a laugh, “I expected to hear from you hours ago.”

“Um…Maria had a package she wanted me to drop off before I left,” I tell her and it’s not a complete lie so I don’t feel bad, “I totally forgot and ended up getting lost trying to find a post office here.”

“What kept Maria from mailing her own package?” Carrie asks crossly, “She treats you like you’re her personal errand boy. Doesn’t she have a husband for that sort of thing?”

I nearly smile over her caustic reply. Carrie dislikes Maria almost as much as Maria dislikes her. Tonight, I’m not so quick to jump to Maria’s defense. In fact, Carrie’s antagonism amuses me because, presently, Maria’s not all that high on my list either. Still, I make a half-hearted effort to stick up for her. “She’s pregnant, Carrie, so I have to excuse her,” I volley back with weary indifference, “Dropping her package off wasn’t a big deal.” In reality, just taking that package from Maria had shaken me terribly but I don’t see the need to tell Carrie all that.

“I don’t like how she bosses you around, Max.”

“As opposed to how you boss me around?” I counter smoothly.

“Like hell, I boss you,” Carrie laughs, “If I had any control over what you do whatsoever we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah right now,” she purrs, “Because I’d be there with you right now or, more specifically, I’d be underneath y--,”

“And on that note,” I interrupt laughingly before she can conclude her raunchy sentence, “I just wanted to call and say goodnight. I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you.”

“When are you coming home?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“You’ll bring me something?” she wheedles.

“You bet,” I promise, “Be a good girl until I get back home.”

“And then I can be bad?”

“As much as you want,” I murmur in return, “The badder the better.”

By the time I hang up the phone with her I’m actually smiling. She’s definitely a fun girl, though a bit aggressive at times. All things considered, I actually like the non-attachment thing we have going on. We’re free to enjoy each other’s company without all the emotional baggage that comes with that and God knows that’s the last thing I need or want. I’m actually looking forward to getting a decent night’s rest in spite of everything when my cell tune suddenly swells to life.

I frown at the highlighted number on the caller screen, feeling my irritation reassert itself. Maria. For a moment I consider ignoring her call altogether but my anger abruptly surges forth hot and bright and I answer her call with a growled “hello.”

“So how did it go?” she chirps, seemingly oblivious to my surly tone, “Don’t leave out a single detail.”

“How did it go?” I repeat silkily, wanting to strangle her at that second. If she were here with me right now I might have considerable difficulty restraining myself from doing her bodily harm. “How did it go? How do you think it went, Maria? I should kill you right now,” I utter angrily.

“Why?” she gasps, “What happened? Did you and Liz have a fight?”

“I didn’t even talk to her.”

“Then what’s wrong?” she asks, “I know for a fact Liz wants to see you, Max. I wouldn’t have suggested that you go over there otherwise. So what the hell happened?”

“Why didn’t you tell me she had a son?” I demand harshly, ignoring her befuddled reply altogether. Her innocent act is really starting to steam me.

“Wh-What?” she sputters.

“Liz has a son,” I enunciate furiously, “I saw him. Why didn’t you warn me, Maria? Why did you just send me over there like a fucking lamb to slaughter? I felt like I’d been hit between the eyes with a two by four.”

How does Maria respond to this? She laughs. I’m in the worst pain of my life and she laughs at me. I nearly hang up in her face right then. “Max,” she chortles, “Liz doesn’t have a kid. Where the hell would you get an idea like that?”

“I saw her with him, Maria,” I grate harshly, “I’m never forgiving you for this.”

Her laughter subsides when she recognizes that I’m deadly serious. When she speaks again her tone is tempered with deliberate calm. “Max, you’re wrong,” she insists softly, “Liz does not have a son. She doesn’t. I promise you.”

“I saw him,” I say again, my voice rising, “He’s the perfect age. About seven years old, blond curls, big dimply smile… She called him Gavin for crying out loud!”

“Oh my God,” Maria utters shakily and I can detect the thread of laughter in her tone again.

“I’m fucking hanging up,” I announce bitterly.

“No Max, wait!” she cries out when I start to do just that, “Max, this whole thing is just one great big misunderstanding. Oh my God…I never thought you’d jump to such a conclusion. Max…Gavin is not Liz’s son…he’s her godson, more specifically he’s Gavin’s nephew. That’s his oldest sister’s child.”

Now it’s my turn to be stunned into immobility. “What?”

“Becky…that’s Gavin’s sister…she found out she was pregnant a few weeks after Gavin was killed in the accident,” Maria explains in a rush, “She and Liz got really close afterwards…and well…Liz keeps Gavin the second on her days off. That’s it, Max. Liz doesn’t have a son. She doesn’t have any children at all.”

I literally deflate with the revelation, my entire body slumping with relief. I’m not even aware that I’ve been holding my breath the entire time Maria was talking until a mighty rush of air escapes from my lungs. Gradually, I can feel the painful vise around my heart begin to ease.

“No children,” I query tremulously.

“Not a one,” Maria says, “No boyfriends either. She lives alone…just her and her cats.”

“Oh…” I say and then I groan, feeling utterly ridiculous over my reaction, “Good God.” All this time I’ve been torturing myself and determined to avoid Liz…over nothing. Now it’s much too late in the evening for a visit, even for a phone call.

As if she’s come to the very same conclusion Maria advises me, “Go to see her as soon as you can tomorrow, Max. Don’t put it off any longer. Please…I’m begging you… Fix it.”

Chapter 14

I knock for the longest time but receive no answer. I’ve already come to the logical conclusion that she’s not home. There are no lights on inside the home, no signs of life whatsoever. But I hardly want to give up, not after I’ve worked up my courage to the point of facing her again. So instead of leaving, as I probably should, I stroll along the porch and survey the various plants and knickknacks she has situated all over, hoping that if I linger long enough she might show.

In casual interest, I ring the delicate wind chimes above my head. I remember how she was so wild about them when we were married and would sometimes sit out on the porch for hours listening to them tinkle. I close my eyes now and try to imagine her handing them there. To my surprise and dismay I receive a flash of that very thing.

She wobbles unsteadily on the ladder, bracing her weight against the overhead banister. At the foot of the ladder her kitten looks up at her with uncertain eyes, meowing her worry.

“Don’t worry, Niagara Falls,” Liz tells her with a smile, “You’re the clumsy one, remember, not me.” The cat meows her skepticism. “I promise it’s all under control.” But it’s clearly not and a moment later Liz tumbles from the ladder and hits the concrete floor of her porch with a hard thud, which is followed by the loud clattering of the ladder. It misses falling on her by mere inches.

She lies there for a moment, in searing pain, her teeth clenched against it while Niagara inches forward to nuzzle her tear-streaked face. “I’m okay, Niagara,” she reassures the kitten hoarsely, reaching out to fondle her downy fur, “Stupid ladder. Stupid hip.” As she sniffles, Niagara nuzzles her again as if to commiserate her mistress’ pain. “Yeah,” Liz purrs sweetly, “At least you love me, don’t you, girl? At least you love me…”

I snatch my hand back from the chimes, feeling shaken with the undeniable urge to weep in remorse and joy. Foremost, it’s the first unearthly connection I’ve had to Liz in a long time, even while we were married. That stuns me in itself, but secondly and most pertinently, my heart contracts with guilt to know that she’s experienced so much sorrow and that she had to endure it alone. For another countless time I find myself lamenting the fact Maria chose to keep me in the dark about her progress. For another countless time I berate myself for not pushing harder to know the whole truth. But I gladly buried my head in the sand because I could live out my happy, neat existence that way and now…I feel like an ass.

Pivoting, I stare at Liz’s front door again. She has a cute little wooden sign hung there that features cherubic, carved figures picking apples under a caption that reads: Welcome Home. Welcome home? I utter a staggered, inward laugh. Is somebody trying to tell me something right now? What’s more…can I afford to miss the point? Perhaps this trip to Baltimore didn’t come as a complete coincidence. Perhaps I was meant to be here right at this time. Who knows? But I’m absolutely certain that I’m not only ready to see Liz again…I need to. I’m practically burning with the desire, if for no other reason that to tell her three, simple words: I forgive you.

Before today I never made the conscious decision to do so. Before today I was certain that I never would. Though the pain of thinking of her and her betrayal had lessened over the years the thought of simply forgiving her for it all had seemed impossible. Now I’m not so sure anymore. I am sick of harboring the bitterness and the anger but mostly I’m sick of the estrangement between us. I’m sick of the vacancy in my heart that’s been there ever since we parted and I don’t mean just since the divorce. I mean all that time during our marriage when we were closed off from each other emotionally. I had felt it…all that time I knew something was wrong, but I’d let it ride…and I’d lost.

In truth, I want to do more than simply give her my forgiveness. I want to ask for hers in return because I know I did my share, too. Liz once told me that she didn’t marry me to see the back of my head but I know in the last few years of our marriage that’s all she did see. I worked more and more and saw her less and less and I simply expected her to understand my actions because she always did.

There wasn’t any effort; any trying on my part because I’d learned to take Liz’s loyalty and patience for granted. Subconsciously, I knew I could relegate our relationship to the backburner and Liz would forgive me for the transgression. She would let me come back when I was ready. She always did…until one day she found a nineteen-year-old boy eager to pay her the attention I didn’t and I lost her.

I touch the “welcome home” decoration now, letting my fingers play over the corrugated edges and I see this moment as a sign. A new beginning for Liz and me…even if she doesn’t know it yet. Maybe we’ll never be the Max and Liz we once were or love each other with such complete abandon again, but there’s nothing to stop us from becoming friends. After all the years we shared together it seems a shame that it should dwindle down into nothing.

So I refused to be deterred by the fact that she’s not here. She has to return sometime, right? I decide in the end to leave her a note and run back to the rental for a pad and pencil. And I write:

Liz,

I can imagine the look on your face right now. You’re probably shocked as hell to see this note. I’m shocked as hell to be writing it but… I couldn’t go away without seeing you or, at least, telling you I’m sorry for everything and I miss you. I have no idea how we ended up down the road we did and I wish to God we hadn’t gone there, but it’s in the past now. I’m looking ahead to the future and I’m hoping that you might want to be a part of it. Let me know.

Love,

Max

I stare down at my words again, wondering if I’ve come across too strongly only to dismiss the idea altogether. It’s how I feel. I’m not proposing that we pick up where we left off or anything. That very idea is a total impossibility. But I would think that friendship isn’t too much to hope for after what we’ve been to each other.

On the spur I decide to scribble down the name of my hotel and room number before carefully folding the note into her door. This will probably be my last opportunity to see her because after my early morning meeting tomorrow I’m back on a plane for Detroit. But I wanted her to know I was there.

I make my way back towards the hotel feeling lighter than I’ve felt in years despite the fact I didn’t get to talk to Liz at all. The hope of talking to her is enough to keep me going. On the way there I check my cell phone messages and I’m not surprised to find half a dozen voice mails from Maria, which makes me laugh. However, when I hear a certain one from my sister some of that good humor fades. She says I’m to call her immediately and so, with great reluctance, I put in a call to Isabel’s work.

“Mancini Graphic Arts, how may I direct your call?” Isabel chirps personably.

“Hey, Isabel,” I say, preparing myself for the mother of all meltdowns.

“Max!” she hisses, “I have been calling you all day! What the hell are you thinking?”

“What?”

My innocent routine doesn’t go over well with her. “Maria told me all about it so don’t play dumb with me,” she spits, “I cannot believe that you’re going to get involved with her again after what happened the last time!”

“Isabel, calm down before you have a stroke,” I soothe serenely, “I’m sure you’re overreacting right now.”

“Oh, you’re sure, are you?” she clips, “Are you or are you not planning to see Liz while you’re in Baltimore, if you haven’t already?” I attempt to sputter out an excuse but she cuts me off, snapping, “Answer the question!”

“I will, if you give me a chance and stop snapping at me,” I reply crossly, “First of all…yes. Yes, I am planning to see Liz while I’m down here.” Isabel groans. “I don’t understand why you’re reacting this way, Iz. You love Liz. I thought you two had mended fences.”

“We have,” Isabel agrees, “But just because I love her doesn’t mean I love her with you. She makes a great friend but she was a lousy wife.”

“Isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle black,” I demand in a starchy tone, “Said the woman who left her own husband high and dry for another man.”

“Jesse and I were divorced before anything happened with Kyle,” she fires back defensively, “It’s hardly the same thing.”

“Do you think it really matters a damn to him that you waited until after the divorce to sleep with someone else,” I ask acerbically, “It still hurts just the same, Isabel. The woman you love is sharing her bed with another man. Nothing makes that right.”

She huffs a sorrowful little sigh. “How did we turn this around on me?” she whispers in a suffocated tone.

“I’m not trying to upset you,” I sigh wearily, “But it pisses me off to hear you badmouth Liz for practically the same thing you did. Neither of you were right. Period.”

“Okay, fine,” she concedes thickly, “But can you at least admit that reconciling with her would be a very, very bad idea, especially if you plan to be the one doing the chasing.”

“Isabel, what are you talking about?” I ask blankly, trying to divide my attention between her disjointed rambling and weaving through the beginnings of rush hour traffic, “I’m not trying to reconcile with Liz. That is the furthest thought from my mind. At most I thought we could have dinner together and talk but that’s it.”

“Oh,” she replies, as if I’ve taken all the wind out of her sails.

“Feeling better now,” I tease, “Got your head on straight again?”

Isabel emits a weak chuckle. “I was just afraid…” she says, “I didn’t want you jumping back into something before you were ready.”

“There will be no jumping,” I vow, “In fact, I haven’t even talked to Liz yet and the way things are going I might miss her entirely this trip.”

“This trip?” Isabel echoes worriedly, “What do you mean by ‘this trip’?”

I have to smile at the anxiety in her tone. “Yes, this trip,” I clarify gently, “Even if I miss her this trip I am going to see her again, Isabel. We have things to settle.”

“God, you’re stubborn,” she mutters, “I love you, Max.”

“I love you, too,” I retort, “Now get back to work, you loafer.”

By the time I’m back in my hotel room I am literally exhausted from the day. After dragging myself into the shower, I slip into some comfortable clothes, wolf down a quick meal and then crash on the bed. When I crack my eyes open hours later it’s nearly eleven o’clock at night. My room is cloaked in pure darkness. Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, I grope around in obscurity for the lamp and click it to life. Once that’s accomplished, I dial downstairs to the concierge for my incoming phone messages. To my disappointment he informs me that no one has called.

Okay, so I’m trying not to feel anxious over that fact or depressed but my determination is flagging. So she hasn’t called. Did I really expect her to? It has been eight years. Maybe she wants nothing to do with me now.

I stare at the telephone longingly. Even with that possibility I still hoped against all odds that she would call me, that she would harbor the same mad desire to see me that I harbored to see her. But then I’ve got to look at this situation logically. Liz and I haven’t seen or spoken to one another in nearly a decade. That’s plenty of time for a person to build up animosity, hurt and general dislike. Considering all the things Liz has likely endured since we parted company I wouldn’t be completely surprised if she hated my guts for my inadvertent contribution to her pain.

Yet I balk inwardly at the thought and, for a second, I consider calling Maria and asking for Liz’s phone number but at the last moment I decide against it. The odds are pretty good that Liz should have returned home by now, which could mean only two things. Either she’s yet to come across my note, which is highly unlikely. Or, she’s come across it and simply chosen not to respond and if she’s chosen not to respond that could only mean she doesn’t want to hear from me. And since that’s looking more and more like a probability as the minutes pass on I see very little point in attempting to call her. She’d most likely hang up on me before I could utter two words of greeting.

Feeling dejected, I click on the television and ring room service for a late supper. So much for the hope of mending fences. My missed chance hurts even more because I really wanted to put the old grudges behind us this time. I really did.

Thirty minutes later my doorbell sounds just as I’ve become engrossed in the latest Lifetime movie of woe. I blame Liz for getting me hooked on them in the first place. At least when I’m watching I feel closer to her.

My eyes glued to the television, I inch from the bed to swing open the door. “Just leave it over there,” I order the bellhop absently, motioning over to the table off to his left with one hand while I dig in my pocket for five-dollar bill with the other.

“Were you expecting somebody else?” a laughing voice asks me, “I didn’t know you still watched Lifetime.”

I freeze and I swear every vessel in my brain explodes with the rush of blood that flows to my head. You know what they say about your heart skipping up into your throat? It’s literal. My heart is lodged there right now and drumming hard like a torrential rain against a tin roof. As if in slow motion, I pivot around to face her, my heart then dipping into my stomach when I face her completely for the first time in nearly a decade.

She’s still standing half in, half out the door, as if she’s uncertain whether she should stay or if she should go, nibbling pensively on her lower lip. I think I might actually faint in that moment. As it is I’m shaking so badly I can barely stand.

“Liz.” I breathe her name like a reverent prayer and at that moment, for me, it is.

And her response is so simple, without flourish or fanfare as she smiles her sweet smile at me and says, “Hey, Max.”

Chapter 15

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asks tentatively as I continue to stare at her like I’ve been struck dumb. I can’t help it. I’m caught somewhere between disbelief and joy. I want to step forward, want to touch her just to assure myself she’s real but I’m afraid to move. What if I reach out and she disappears? Her presence at that moment is almost too much to hope for.

Finally, she nods down towards her brace. “I’ve kinda been on my feet all day, Max,” she says, “Do you think I could come in and sit down now?” I still don’t budge and I have the embarrassing realization that I’m staring at her brace like a coiled snake but I can’t look away. Even when she starts to blush under my scrutiny my eyes remained locked on that metal crutch.

Liz shifts uncomfortably under my stare and ducks her head shyly. “Is…Is it throwing you off?” she asks in uncertainty and I swear I don’t know how I manage to refrain from tears at her timid question. “I know you weren’t expecting it but…it’s not as bad as it looks,” she reassures me. She offers me another smile, this one tinged with uncertainty. “I could tell you all about it…if you want…”

At long last I recover my ability to think and manage a jerky nod of agreement. As she brushes past me I catch the scent of her perfume and a shiver trembles through my body. She still smells the same…sweet, alluring…intoxicating. I close my eyes for a moment, letting it wash over me.

Once she’s fully inside I close the door behind her and lean back against it. “I was expecting you to call,” I tell her softly.

Again she ducks her head, her cheeks staining with a chagrined blush. “Are you disappointed that I didn’t?” she queries, peering up at me through her lashes.

I swallow hard and I swear the sound is audible even over the constant buzz coming from the television set. “No,” I reply in a rush of breath, shaking my head for emphasis, “No, I’m not disappointed. I’m glad to see you.” She practically glows with my admission and I’m happy I decided not to heed my instincts and keep my feelings to myself. I nod over towards the bed as she looks like standing is causing her some discomfort. “Go on and sit,” I offer quietly and she doesn’t hesitate to accept it.

As she folds herself down onto the bed I can’t help but note how fluidly she does it. Evidently, Liz has been living with her handicap for a long time now. The difference has lost its shock value for her but for me…I’m spinning over the change, burning with questions.

She situates her brace, taking meticulous and, I believe, deliberate care in doing so and as she does I study her for all the other minute changes I might have missed. It’s then that I become aware of the fact she looks bone tired. There are purple smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes and her face is pale and drawn. She looks like she could fall asleep right there. Even after she straightens and meets my stare, a tremulous smile hovering on her lips, her eyelids continue to droop occasionally. I wonder when was the last time she had a decent night’s rest.

“You look good,” she says after a moment of awkward silence, “Maria tells me you’ve just been recently promoted.”

“I’m doing alright,” I reply modestly, “You know me…gotta feed the monkey.”

She attempts to hide her answering smirk behind her hand. “Still as hard working as ever, huh, Max?”

“Well, I don’t have much in my life besides my career,” I tell her without reproach, “I can afford to keep busy.”

“Yeah…” she murmurs unarguably, “I guess so.”

She reaches up to tuck a stray yank of hair behind her ear and the gesture draws even more attention to her unkempt appearance. Her hair is clipped back from her face much the way it had been yesterday when I saw her with only a few rebellious strands escaping confinement. But even wan and disheveled and exhausted she’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Just looking at her makes me ache.

I greedily gorge myself on the sight of her now, letting my gaze travel down the length of her body. She seems trimmer than I remembered. Not skinny, per se, but definitely lean. That’s when I notice that she’s dressed in a pair of standard green scrubs and sneakers. Scrubs? My gaze flashes back to her face in excited question.

“I just began my residency a month ago,” she answers softly, answering my unspoken inquiry, “The hours suck and the pay isn’t all that great but the experience is invaluable and in the end I’ll have the satisfaction of having doctor tacked in front of my name.”

I have to smile a little over her reply because it sounds so rehearsed, like a pep talk she gives herself whenever things are looking too grim. No wonder she looks like she’s about to drop. I’ve heard that residents pull eighty hours weeks sometimes. I’m dumbfounded yet again. Liz…my Liz is going to be a doctor. I can hardly process it all. I definitely can’t deny the encompassing pride swelling in my chest right now. “What happened to molecular biology?” I ask in mild curiosity, “I thought that was your dream.”

“Dreams change,” she replies simply but I’ve the feeling her words have a double meaning.

“Why?”

Liz shrugs. “I saw a friend of mine give birth and… It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. That was it,” she laughs in explanation, “I knew what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.”

“So that’s your specialty?”

“Obstetrics…yes…”

“Wow.”

“I actually only got off work a few hours ago,” she explains, “When I came home and found your note in the door I was…”

“…shocked?” I finished for her.

Her eyes skitter away. “Scared,” she counters gruffly, “I…I was afraid to face you again after what happened…”

“Liz--,”

“I owe you an apology, Max,” she says in a tear-clogged voice, “That day…when I came home to tell you what had happened with Gavin… I know I never gave you any time to adjust to it and…God! I know how much I hurt you now. That’s not the way you treat someone you shared ten years of your life with and I’m so sorry, Max.”

“You fell out of love, Liz,” I whisper with a hitching breath, “It happens.”

She looks at me then, her eyes shimmering with tears. “It wasn’t that,” she counters softly, “I…I never fell out of love with you, Max. I just forgot how it felt for a while.”

“I don’t understand,” I utter thickly, my heart beginning a slow pound.

“The reason I left…the real reason…was because I was so attracted to Gavin and… I didn’t know how I could stay with you, not after I’d already taken things so far,” she expounds dully, “I just felt like I’d messed things up beyond repair. It just seemed better to simply walk away from you.” For a second time her eyes fall away from mine and she inhales a staccato sigh, chafing her palms against the thighs of her scrub pants. “If it means anything to you, Max…Gavin and I didn’t really get involved with each other until long after I’d moved to Baltimore. That’s when our relationship really began…not that first night.”

“It helps to know,” I whisper, “…a little.”

And it did. I remember the nights I spent awake after she left envisioning her with him. While I cried myself to sleep at night I imagined her entwined in his arms, letting him touch all those special places that should have been mine alone to caress. It killed me inside to think while I retreated to a cold, lonely bed she was finding warmth and succor in his arms. Somehow knowing she was alone then too helped to ease some of the embittered pain for me now.

Yet there is still one thing I want to know, one thing I’ve tortured myself about over and over through the years because I’ve never heard the words from her mouth. I think if I finally know for certainty, I can accept it and I can move on. And so I ask her now, without any accusation or bitterness, “Did you love him, Liz?”

“I did,” she admits.

It’s hard to hear from her, even though I’ve known the truth in my heart for some time now. I’m thankful that she doesn’t elaborate further because I don’t think my heart could stand it, but at the same time her silence is just as damning. She makes no excuses for her feelings, no justifications at all. She loved him. Pure and simple. Liz had, indeed, given her heart to another man and I have to live with that knowledge.

Right now processing that inescapable knowledge is too much, too soon and so I decide to redirect my focus elsewhere, to something that won’t cause such unbearable pain…or so I think. I nod towards her brace, which lies propped against the bed not far from her hip. “What happened?” I demand bluntly, “Last I heard Maria had said your recovery was going as expected.”

“You know my hip was shattered in the accident,” she reminds me, “Well…six surgeries later and they were never able to fully repair the damage so now I can’t walk unassisted.” She offers me another noncommittal shrug after the explanation. “Not a bad trade off when I consider that I could have been paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of my life.”

“So it wasn’t an easy recovery for you then?” I ask gently.

We lose eye contact once again as Liz chuckles over my question and scratches thoughtfully behind one ear. “It was…um…challenging,” she evades with a faint smile.

“Challenging?” I parrot carefully, “What does that mean?”

“I had some complications.”

“Like?”

“Um…I had some internal bleeding following my first operation so that they had to rush me back in for emergency surgery,” she reveals, “Then a few days after that I developed a bad staph infection, which impeded my recovery time and…almost killed me. I ended up starting my physical therapy months behind schedule.”

“Oh God, Liz--,”

She holds up her hand to silence what I’m sure she recognizes will be the beginning of my self-blaming tirade. “Before you say a word you need to know that I didn’t want your help, Max,” she explains, “It was very important to me that I make the recovery on my own…that I didn’t take anything else from you. That was the way it had to be.”

“Liz, I never would have left you,” I reply fervently, “Not if I had known…”

“I know that, Max.” She stares down at her hands as the silence stretches between us again. “Why did you leave that note for me tonight?” she whispers after a while, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? I’m wrecked, Max. I was prepared to never see you again. I figured that was what I deserved after…” She pauses to whisk away the tears falling on her cheeks, but more quickly replaced them. “But now here you are after so long and I’m just so grateful to see you again. I don’t know how you can ever forgive me, Max.”

“But I do,” I reply hoarsely.

She jerks an anguished look my way. “What?”

“I forgive you, Liz,” I whisper again, “I forgive you. But I what I wonder is…can you forgive me?”

Her face crumples completely at my question. “Forgive you, Max?” she utters in tearful confusion, “For what? I’m the one who ruined your life. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes, I did,” I counter emotionally, “I took you for granted… I know I didn’t treasure you, Liz, and I know that now. If I had…if I’d really made you feel valued…you would have never turned to him in the first place. You would have never even looked twice.”

“He reminded me of you,” she weeps brokenly, “That’s what made me look in the first place. Even when I was running away from you, Max…I was still looking for you, too.” Her revelation stuns me so much that now I have to look away. I press in close to the door and stare down at the carpet, my own tears falling onto my bare feet. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to contact you but I never felt I had the right,” she whispers now, “I didn’t want to turn your life upside down and… I felt so unworthy. I didn’t think you’d want to hear anything I had to say anyway. I thought maybe I’d make things worse if I tried and…saying ‘I’m sorry’ never helped before.”

“I never thought you meant it before, Liz,” I mumble candidly.

“Maybe I didn’t then,” she concedes, “Maybe I was too busy trying to prove a point…to you…to myself… But I mean it now. I’m sorry, Max. For everything. I really am.”

“So am I, Liz,” I mutter emotionally, feeling as if my heart is breaking all over again as I’m faced with her naked torment and remorse, “I’m sorry, too.”

Chapter 16

I return to Detroit feeling heartened but dissatisfied as well. There’s a newly established peace between Liz and I but the distance is still there and I don’t mean just between our respective cities. I’ve been back home for three weeks now and there’s been no contact between us. I refuse to call her. Not because I harbor any residual animosity towards her because I don’t. I simply can’t be the one to make the next move. I took the first step when I left that note in her front door. Now Liz has to be the one to decide what happens next.

Of course, Maria has accused me of being a nitwit over this. She’s quite disgusted with me at the moment, especially because I didn’t immediately stop living my life because Liz and I had a civil conversation. I think she half expects me to pack my belongings and make a pilgrimage to Baltimore post haste. Period. Er…no, I don’t think so.

Instead of waiting in some proverbial emotional limbo with bated breath I’m still dating Carrie in the meantime. I’m still going on as I always have, a fact that Maria has threatened mutiny over. But really I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Live like a monk on the off chance something might happen between Liz and me? We aren’t anywhere near that place and, even if we were, I’m fairly certain she’s still grieving over Gavin, which makes any attempt at a relationship rather awkward.

So I wonder…how does one compete with a ghost? It’s not like she’s given me a lot of information about him, a fact I’m both grateful and anxious over. I know next to nothing about their relationship, other than what the fact that he reminded her of me and he was the one to give her the attention I didn’t. I’m sure by the time he died he’d reached god-like status in Liz’s eyes so how am I, plain, mortal, mistake-ridden Max Evans, supposed to compare? We have all those issues to work out already and that’s only if, if I can manage to trust her again, something I’m not completely certain I can do.

I can’t talk to Maria about my indecision. She’d just push me at Liz. And I can’t talk to Isabel about it because she’d just warn me to keep my distance. The same goes for Michael and Kyle. There are no neutral parties involved in this. My friends either swing in one extreme or the other without any middle ground. If I’m going to figure out what to do about Liz I know I’m going to have to do it on my own.

Presently, it’s my constant obsessing over the things I can’t change that has me surfing the net at nearly two o’clock in the morning. I’m currently on the ESPN website, looking over the latest sports stats when the electronic voice sounds to alert me that, “I have mail.” Frowning with some concern over who would be emailing me so late I pull up my account and click for the incoming mail. My heart does a crazy dip when I read the sender name: Elizabeth Alexander. And then it starts to pound. I have to literally count to ten before I can gather the courage to open the email.

Max,

I’ve got to send this quick before I lose my nerve. It’s been three weeks since I saw you last and I haven’t been able to think of anything else. Numerous times I’ve picked up the phone to call you but the idea seemed too trite. But I can’t pretend that seeing you again didn’t affect me, or that I don’t want to see you again.

So there it is. I miss you, Max.

--Liz

My breath escapes me in a painful wheeze. Here I’ve been mourning the fact that she hasn’t called since our last conversation and now she’s emailed me out of the blue and I feel completely panicked. I pitch myself from the desk chair and begin pacing the length of my office, occasionally throwing tentative glances back at the computer screen. I drag my hand down my mouth, rocking back and forth on my heels before finally returning to my chair to face the computer screen again.

I stare at her written correspondence for a long time before I can coax my shaking fingers into typing a response.

I was beginning to think you’d forgotten all about me or maybe you were thinking my visit wasn’t altogether a good idea after all. I’m glad to see I was wrong.

What do we do now?

-M.

Okay, I must the be most impatient man alive because the milliseconds it takes to send that email and then wait the seven minutes for her response is like watching paint dry. In the meantime I tap my pen against the surface of my desk. I dust off the screen of my computer. I even manage a quick game of spider solitaire before she finally replies. I’m literally ready to go insane when the electronic voice finally sounds again. Liz’s rejoinder is straight forward and simple: What do you want to do, Max?

What a question. What did I want to do? The idea to run comes to mind because I get the sinking suspicion I’m about to go down that road again. I’m about to open my heart and I’m not sure that I’m ready, especially since the person I’m potentially opening my heart to is Liz.

I don’t think I’ve really considered the implications of letting her back in again. Yes, I know I want to have her in my life again. Yes, I know I’m hoping for friendship but…I have absolutely no idea how to go about cultivating one with her and what that will mean for me.

In retrospect, it seems that the acquisition should be easy. After all, Liz and I were married to one another for ten years and dated each other for two even before that. I should know her better than anyone in the world and, in a sense, I do know her better. Yet, at the same time she’s an absolute stranger to me as well. I feel like we have to start over from scratch if we’re going to make this work.

After hitting the reply button and staring at the flashing cursor for an indefinite amount of time I finally come up with the only appropriate response I can think of: How about we start from the beginning? So what have you been doing these last eight years?

Her reply is back a few minutes later and it makes me smile. LOL, Max! Do you want the unabridged version because this might take a while?

Despite her humor I’m sensing the warning in her words. Do I really want to know? Am I really prepared to hear about how she grieved for her lover? Or how difficult life has been for her since he died? Am I really prepared to know the height, depth and breadth of the love she had for this guy? Is that what I’m prepared to hear? Because I know that his name is going to come up, rather by design or inadvertently, and I just want to get it out of the way. Once we’re over that wall tackling our other issues should be a cinch. I also recognize that this is my chance to be Liz’s rock, much the way she spent the majority of our marriage being mine. The least I can do is listen to her vent now…if she needs it.

My fingers fly over the keys as I type, Tell me everything.

Her reply takes a few seconds but when it comes I’m not surprised by what she says. I don’t think you really want to hear about it, Max. I’ll probably bore you to tears. If you’ve heard one tale of woe you’ve heard them all.

I smile as I read over her reply and send back: I want to hear your tale of woe. Would you rather tell me over the phone?

A few seconds more elapse as I wait for her incoming mail. No. Let’s do it this way. I think this might be better to tell via email. I know it will be hard…especially for you. I don’t think I could handle it if I could hear how much I’d hurt you in your voice while I told you.

You’re probably about that, Liz. This will be hard for me to hear…because it’s you. I can’t help it. You…still get to me.

Now it’s her turn to take an excessively long time to respond. She takes so long I begin to think she won’t reply at all, that perhaps I’d revealed too much in my last email, that I’ve made myself too vulnerable. Is she having seconds thoughts about the conversation? Is she, perhaps, second-guessing my motives? Or is she, like I am, considering the consequences of this conversation, the healing and the hurt? Is she afraid? When I finally do receive her answering email I expel an audible sigh of relief.

Oh my God…Max.

I never in a million years expected you’d be awake when I sent that email. It was just a fluke and yet…it seems right that you were awake when I sent it.

Are you being serious when you say you want to know about how my life’s been? You’re the person who could be hurt most with the knowledge and the last thing I want to do is hurt you more than I already have. We don’t have to talk about it. It’s not like I expected it or anything.

Just…let’s not. Let’s not talk about it.

--Liz

I send back my reply without a beat. I want to know, Liz. If we’re going to be friends we’re going to have to learn how to talk to each other…more importantly, I’m going to have to learn how to listen. Tell me everything.

What do you want to know?

Tell me about the accident first. How did it happen?

We decided to go out for a late drive. He was in a good mood because…because I told him I loved him and he wanted to celebrate. We were going entirely too fast, weaving in and out of traffic. He lost control of the bike… The last thing I remembered seeing were oncoming headlights before I woke in the hospital and you were leaning over me.

So now the pieces of the puzzle were being filled in for me. I had always wondered why they’d decided to go riding in the early morning hours and now I know. The knowledge that she declared her love to him that night hurts but what hurts even more than that is the instinctive understanding I have that Liz has been blaming herself for that night all these years. No doubt she’s played the game of what if into near insanity. I ache for her and the sorrow that she’s carried with her all this time. My empathy outweighs any pain I feel over her detailed recounting of that night’s events.

It’s not your fault, I write back to her, He probably died the happiest he’s ever been knowing he was loved by you, Liz. It’s not your fault.

It is, she sends back, and I imagine she’s in tears by this point. I know that I am. Everything that happened that year…all the heartbreak, started with me. I should have come to you. As soon as my attraction for him spun out of control I should have come to you and told you the truth. I should have made you see, Max.

I’ve thought about that for a long time myself and the conclusion I’ve drawn is that it probably would have done little good. As it was when she came to me with her fears and insecurities I was prone to brush her off with a kiss or even a weary wave of my hand. I can well believe that if she’d confided to me her attraction for Gavin I would have responded with anger rather than thoughtful consideration of where my marriage was headed. I was already well aware that I was doing wrong by her, that I wasn’t giving enough attention. No doubt I would have seen her admission as an attempt at manipulation because my guilty conscience would not have allowed me to see the truth…that I was alienating my wife and slowly strangling the life out of our marriage.

As it was, nothing woke me up until she walked out the door and by then it was too late. Liz had decided she’d had enough and I don’t blame her. I don’t blame her for walking. I send her an email telling her just that and her reply is straightforward: You should.

I can’t allow her to beat herself up anymore so I decide to take action. Call me. I think we should finish this conversation on the phone. Here’s my number.

I don’t wait for her return email but quickly sign off and hover near the phone in anticipation of her call. There’s every good chance she’ll pass on the opportunity but I doubt it. At least…I hope not. When the phone finally rings I have to check the impulse to snatch it up from its cradle on the first ring.

“Why did you want to do this?” she asks in a whisper soft tone.

“Email is too impersonal.”

“We’ve been impersonal, Max,” Liz emphasizes wearily, “Why do you want to rehash all this?”

“If we never talk about it, we never get past it,” I reason, “And I want to get past it, Liz. I need to.”

I can practically sense her reluctance through the distance but she doesn’t refuse me though I know she wants to. “What do you want to know?” she queries almost inaudibly.

“How did you meet him…Gavin, I mean? Where?”

She blows out a shuddering breath, as if she’s about to prepare for a grueling event. I feel much the same but these are things I must know, things that will drive me crazy if I continue to let them fester. “He would come into the diner,” she tells me, “Sometimes he’d order coffee or pie but…most days…he’d just watch me.”

“Like I used to?”

“Yes.”

Her revelation that he reminded her of me makes more sense now. Not only did this man give her much needed attention but also he showed her the very same avid interest I had once shown her. Running from me and looking for me, indeed. “So what happened?”

“One day he approached me and asked for my phone number.”

“And?”

Liz groans aloud at my prompting. “God, Max!” she cries hoarsely, “Do we have to do this? It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore!”

“Do you not want to talk about it for your own comfort or mine?” I inquire softly.

“You,” she whispers, “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“I need to know,” I insist gently, “You fell in love with another man, Liz. That’s the part that hurts the most. I need to understand how things between us got so bad that you would actually…fall in love with someone else.”

“Then ask me about us, not Gavin,” she says, “He wasn’t the reason our marriage crumbled, Max.”

“I know I neglected you,” I whisper gruffly, “I know that, but didn’t you realize, Liz? Didn’t you know that…that even when I didn’t show it, I loved you?”

“No…no, I didn’t,” she mutters, “All I knew is that we seemed to be drifting further and further apart and you didn’t seem to care. It was like we were in a boat and we were sinking but I was the only one bailing.”

“And he never made you feel that way?”

“Who? Gavin?”

“Yes,” I murmur plaintively. She was right. Talking about this is indescribably hard even if I think it’s a necessary evil. But God…does she have to make him sound so fucking perfect, the complete antithesis of me? It makes me wonder if she would have thought about me twice had he lived. I tell her just that.

Liz emits a hushed sigh. “Max it’s not a competition. Gavin helped me find myself again,” she explains carefully, “By the time he came along I didn’t know who I was anymore. For years I had spent the majority of my time keeping you strong and being what you needed me to be but when it seemed that you didn’t need me anymore…I stopped feeling like I had a purpose in life. I had tied so much of my existence into being with you that I didn’t know how to be without you.”

“And he helped you to see that?”

“Gavin let me stand on my own…even when he hated it,” she tells me, “When I needed space he stepped back and gave it to me. You…you could have never done that, Max. You would have pushed and prodded until I gave into you and then things would have gotten better for a little while before falling right back into the same old pattern. Then we’d be right back where we started.”

“So what are you telling me exactly?” I ask thickly, “That he was the better choice for you? That leaving me was for the best then? You sound like you’re glad our marriage ended.”

“If that’s how it sounds then I’m sorry,” she says quickly, “Because I have never, never felt that way….not even when Gavin and I were together.” I whisper her name, stunned by the quivering emotion I hear in her voice. “What I’m trying to tell you is that I think we needed this time away from each other, Max,” she replies in a tear choked voice, “We needed to find out who we were apart from each other because…if we didn’t know ourselves how were we supposed to know each other?”

“But I do know you, Liz,” I mumble brokenly, “I know you better than my own soul.”

“Then why are we apart, Max,” she challenges softly, “Don’t you see? You obviously didn’t know me as well as you thought. And I didn’t know you.”

“Does that mean you think we were all wrong for each other?”

“Not at all,” she says in a smiling tone, “You were and still are my soulmate, Max Evans. You ask me if I loved Gavin. I did. I still do, but it’s not romantic love. At the time I thought it was and I thought it was better than what we shared because it wasn’t chaotic or unpredictable or scary like loving you was but… It wasn’t true. I loved Gavin with my heart but…you, on the other hand, I love you with my whole soul and that doesn’t just stop. I had to break us into pieces to figure that out, Max, and I’m sorry. I am so sorry I put you through that hell.”

I almost splinter apart right then. When everything she’s said has been needed but so undeniably painful her last words prove to be a soothing balm for me. I wrap myself in them like a warm blanket.

“I don’t know if I can ever make things right, Max,” she weeps dejectedly, “I probably never will but you need to know that…you’re a part of me…no matter what happens. Even when I’ve tried to cut you out of my heart, to forget you, to move on with my life that’s always been true. It will always be true.”

Chapter 17

“Surprise.”

The look on her face is priceless and I can’t help but smile in reaction. I’ve obviously just caught her in the middle of something. Her hair is still wet from the shower and she’s still wrapped in her bathrobe complete with fuzzy, pink bath slippers. I have to smirk over how adorable she looks, especially when she’s working her mouth so ineffectually for a reply. Finally, after a long moment, she manages to squeak, “Max, what are you doing here?”

“Visiting a friend?” I venture, moving forward to envelop her in a tender hug, “You gonna invite me inside? It’s colder than a bitch out here.”

Her arms fall from around my waist and Liz stumbles back a few steps, her expression still as dumbfounded as ever. She’s still absorbing the shock of my being there. I’m not sure yet if her reaction is a good one or bad one, however.

“Please…please ignore my house. It’s an absolute mess,” she explains lamely as I brush past her and enter into the warm expanse of her living room. Besides a few articles of clothing strewn here and there I don’t know what she means. My condo has definitely seen worse days than this. In fact, her place looks much the way I’ve imagined it, fresh and pretty, just like Liz. As I fall down onto her plush sofa, I nod my approval. “You’ve done well for yourself, Liz.”

“I try,” she replies shyly as she limps over to join me on the couch, “My God…“I can’t believe you’re here, Max. This is too weird.”

“Why?” I query in belated uncertainty. Did I overstep my boundaries by showing up unannounced? Have I read too much into our tentative friendship? Is she expecting company? Now that would certainly be awkward.

“I think it’s ironic actually,” she clarifies laughingly, “I recently put in for vacation time so I could come to Detroit and see you. I was supposed to leave in three days.”

“Now that is ironic,” I chuckle, leaning my head back against the edge of the couch. I slant her a wry grin. “I guess great minds think alike, huh?”

She smirks at me. “I guess so.”

We’ve been talking back and forth for the last four months now on a purely casual basis. In the beginning most of our conversations were tearful manifestations that sometimes ended with remorse and other times with bitter recrimination. But we’ve worked through each one of our issues in painstaking detail. I’m not going to browbeat her over her choices because I didn’t make the best ones either. We’ve agreed to leave all that stuff behind us and I can now say that Liz Parker is my friend and mean it. We’re comfortable with each other again and that’s something I hadn’t thought would ever happen after the hell we’ve been through because of each other.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she murmurs again, staring at me in smiling wonderment.

God, she looks lovely right now. Her cheeks are still flushed from the heat of her shower. Her eyes are shining like polished onyx. I have the strong desire to kiss her right now but somehow I manage to ignore the impulse. With Herculean effort I force myself to concentrate on what’s she’s saying to me.

“…And I have to work these next three days so… I won’t be able to spend any time with you.”

The impact of her words finally sinks in. “How much vacation time did you put in for?”

“Ten days,” she answers curiously, “Why?”

“Because I requested off for fourteen,” I inform her impishly, “See there…this trip is definitely going to work out for the best.” I lift my head to smile at her. “Someone up there must be looking out for us, Liz.”

“Must be,” she says, smiling in soft agreement, “God…Max…you’re really fucking here right now…wow! I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“And you’re not disappointed that I decided to show up out of the blue?” I prod carefully, “I didn’t catch you at an awkward time?”

“Well, I do have to be in for my shift in another two hours but…no. Never. You could never catch me at a bad time,” she tells me with a broadening smile. We chat on idly for another hour while I fill her in on the boring details of my job, but she hangs on my every word as if I've just told her that I discovered the cure for the common cold. Her interest is both disconcerting and endearing and I can't help but feel excited about sharing with her something that is, on most days, incredibly mundane. I'm in the middle of telling her about our newest plant in California when her good-natured expression abruptly becomes a thoughtful frown. “Does Carrie know you’re here, Max?”

Didn’t I say we were comfortable with each other? We’d have to be in order to discuss my current girlfriend so casually. “She knows I’m on vacation,” I hedge with a guilty look as I study the edges of my fingernails, “But I didn’t tell her I was coming to see you. It was a completely unnecessary detail.”

Liz rolls her eyes knowingly. “You’re begging for trouble,” she utters succinctly.

“It’s not like we’re serious or anything,” I protest weakly, “We’re totally free to see other people. Carrie knows that. Besides this isn’t a romantic thing with us anyway. I’m visiting a friend. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is when the ‘friend’ is your ex-wife,” Liz counters, “And you make it a ‘big deal’ when you choose to lie to your girlfriend about it.”

“I…I didn’t lie,” I deny lamely.

“Lie of omission, Max. Same thing.” She reaches behind me to pluck the cordless from its cradle. “Call her,” Liz commands before pushing up to her feet awkwardly, “Don’t worry about the long distance. I’m going to finish getting dressed for work.”

It’s curious that I really believed everything I just told Liz about my visiting her not being a big deal and nothing Carrie needed to know until I’m faced with the prospect of calling her and telling her exactly where I am. However, nothing I said to Liz is untrue. Carrie and I are not serious. We have a very open relationship and, considering some of the stipulations I’ve put on us being together in the first place, I’m quite okay with that. But I’m not an idiot. I know that Carrie wants more and I also know that telling her I’m spending the next ten days with my ex-wife is going to devastate her. Most likely by the time our conversation is done things between us will be done as well.

Yet, that prospect isn’t what bothers me most. It’s the fact that if Carrie and I break up it will be almost as if I’m hoping for something more with Liz. To assign such importance to my visit will then mean I feel something more, right? After all, I did hide the truth from my girlfriend. At the time I told myself it was to avoid certain drama but now I’m not so sure. Maybe I didn’t tell Carrie because I know my visit to Liz isn’t as innocent as I want to believe.

I’m confused. While I really, really love the friendship Liz and I have established there is a part of me that wonders. Sometimes when I look at her, like just now when we were sitting on the sofa laughing together and I have the undeniable urge to touch her, kiss her…just to see if it’s as sweet as I remember. I want to take her to bed and lose myself in her body.

But then I remember other things, too, like how terribly it hurt when she left me and how long it took me to get over it. I don’t want to be hurt like that again and, while there’s part of me that firmly believes Liz is incapable of that kind of betrayal a second time, there is also part of me that’s fearful to give her another chance to prove it. So I’m stuck in a proverbial emotional limbo and wasting my time with the Carries of the world because I know, at least, that way I won’t be hurt.

But then what the hell am I so afraid of? If I am hurt, won’t I heal? Isn’t the payoff bigger than the risk? Isn’t Liz worth the risk? Aren’t I?

I’m tired of living a half-life. Maybe this growing attraction I have for my ex-wife will lead us somewhere good and maybe it will lead us down another dead end. However, I can admit the chances for the former greatly outweigh those of the latter and I’m willing to risk it. Before, when we were married, I was content to let our relationship fall to the wayside and I lost her. This time I’m going to fight for our chance, no matter how miniscule because I have to believe the pay off will be marvelous.

However, I can’t chase Liz. I know the risk is worth it, but does she? Months ago she accused me of not being able to give her the needed space to figure things out. I’m going to do it this time. If she wants me, and I suspect she does, she’s going to have to come after me.

Having made my decision, I quickly dial Carrie’s cell. Her breathy hello sounds in my ear a few seconds later. “I was hoping I’d hear from you today,” she giggles.

“Yeah…uh…you might change your mind about that in a few minutes,” I reply tentatively.

“Why? What did you do?”

“Remember when I told you I was going on vacation?”

“You’re not really on vacation, are you?” she deduces flatly, without a beat.

“No, I’m really on vacation,” I clarify nervously, “I…I just lied to you about where I was going.”

“Where are you, Max?” she asks softly. Too softly. Too calmly.

“I’m with Liz.”

“As in your ex-wife Liz?” she demands sharply.

“Yes.”

“You fucking bastard.”

“Carrie, I know you’re upset because I lied--,”

“This has nothing to do with the fact you lied, Max!” she cries angrily, “You’re with your ex-wife! My God! You told me it was over between you two.”

“It is…I mean…that’s not the point,” I amend lamely, “Whether it’s over with Liz or not should not be an issue, Carrie. We agreed to see other people, remember?”

“I’m not seeing other people, Max!” she explodes, “I haven’t seen ‘other people’ in six months…since I first started dating you!”

“I thought we were having fun,” I whisper in chagrin.

“You were having fun,” she clarifies tearfully, “I was falling in love.”

“Carrie--,”

“Are you sleeping with her now?” she demands sharply.

“That’s not what this is about,” I tell her, “You’ve got our relationship all wrong.”

“Then why?”

“I didn’t want to lie,” I reply wearily, “But obviously this is getting too serious for you, Carrie. I don’t want to hurt you and I told you from the very beginning that I couldn’t commit to you so you shouldn’t expect it.” She starts to cry and I feel like an ass for essentially breaking up with her over the phone but I don’t see any other way around it. “Look, I’m sorry,” I whisper remorsefully, “The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.”

“Oh, fuck you, Max!” she fires out, “You’re so screwed up you can’t even see it! And what do you do? You go crawling back to the very woman who screwed you up in the first place! You make me sick.”

“Okay…apparently you’re not in the frame of mind to talk things out reasonably so--,”

“Reason this, Max!” she cut in shortly. Seconds later her crisp statement is followed by the monotone lull of the dial tone. I stare at the phone in amused chagrin before finally replacing it in its cradle.

“Was that my fault?”

I jerk upright at Liz’s sheepish inquiry, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks. “You mean my fight with Carrie?” I ask.

“I mean your inability to commit,” she clarifies, averting her eyes, “I heard what you said to her, Max.”

“I’m not in a hurry to get seriously involved with anyone, Liz,” I evade softly, “Not her…anyway.”

“But you’ve broken up with her now,” she reasons.

“Yes.”

“And it’s my fault,” Liz concludes.

“Now that might be a leap,” I laugh in reply.

“I know I’m the reason you can’t be in a real relationship, Max,” she mumbles regretfully, “I did. I screwed you up.”

“Yeah, you did,” I admit quietly, dropping all pretense because it’s not flying with her anyway, “But we’re working through that, right, Liz? Neither one of us has to beat ourselves up over the past anymore, remember?” Her features are still dark with worry and repentance as she limps closer. “Listen, just go to work,” I tell her, “I’ll be waiting here when you get back.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right,” she asks, pulling her lower lip between her teeth.

“Is there food in the fridge?” I quip. She bites a smile and nods. “Then I’ll be fine.”

Afterwards she scribbles down her work number and the department where she can be reached on a notepad and then she hobbles over to the coat rack to retrieve her jacket. “I’m sorry about Carrie, Max,” she whispers as she shrugs into her coat, “I wish it could have worked out better for you.”

But as she leaves I glimpse something in her eyes that tells me she’s not as disappointed over my break-up as she puts on.

Chapter 18

“I wasn’t expecting it to snow,” she groans in long-suffering and I must laugh at her assessment, “Now what are we gonna do for fun?”

“You call this snow?” I scoff pithily in question as we peer out her living room window, “This is just flurries compared to what we get in Detroit.” I’m exaggerating a bit. After all, six inches of the white stuff has already fallen but I have seen much worse in Detroit.

“So…that shoots down my idea of showing you around the city,” she sighs, flopping back down onto the sofa, “You got any suggestions?”

I suppose I understand her frustration. This is the first time we’ve really seen each other since I arrived three days earlier. Liz has been on call ever since and, because she was spending at least sixteen hours of her day at the hospital, she consequently spent her nights there as well. I’ve spoken to her on the phone during that time but it wasn’t the same. I can barely contain my joy over the fact she’s home now and she apparently shares my enthusiasm. She came straight home from work, showered and dressed all with the hopes of taking me out. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, the snow stopped us. Liz might be disappointed over the prospect of being snowed in but I’m elated. I like the idea of having her all to myself.

While she pouts her disappointment on the sofa, I stroll about the living room and hide my secret smile. “So,” I query as my fingers drift over the framed edges of her diploma, “were your parents able to come and see you graduate?”

“They were actually the ones to put me through medical school,” Liz replies with a wry smile, “Once they found out where I was there was no stopping them. I saw them almost every month for a year after the accident before I was able to convince them of the danger.”

I snap around to regard her in surprise. “They were with you during your recuperation?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t want it that way,” she tells me, “But Maria wouldn’t take no for an answer. She said it was either she call you or my parents. I chose my parents.” I scowl over that pronouncement, uncertain whether I should be offended or not. Liz tries to hide her answering smile behind her hand but she doesn’t make it. “I was trying to spare you, Max,” she says emphatically.

“From what exactly?” I wonder crossly, “I would have been here for you, Liz.”

“I was trying to spare you from being saddled with care of a woman who tore your life to pieces,” she whispers, “I know what a large heart you have, Max, but… Taking care of me under the circumstances…that would have sucked all the way around, don’t you think?”

“Wow…” I laugh softly, “That’s pretty direct.”

“I know I wasn’t your favorite person back then, Max. That’s why I never expected anything from you. I knew I didn’t deserve it.”

“I did envision some rather horrific things for you back then,” I admit sheepishly, “But not after the accident. Liz, I would have never wished…I would have never wished that on you…even as hurt as I was. It killed me to see you in that hospital bed and know what emotional hell you were in.”

“I know,” she mumbles thickly, breaking our stare to contemplate the tips of her sneakers, “Sometimes I think it worked out better that way. If Gavin had lived we probably would have stayed together and I would have eventually broken his heart.”

“You think so?” I query weakly, falling into a nearby recliner, “I thought he made you happy.”

“He did,” she agrees wistfully, “That night of the accident I was pretty sure we were going to be together for the long haul…forever…”

That’s a choking thought, more painful than I imagine but because I sense she’s going somewhere with this I make myself remain seated instead of yielding to the unbidden desire to run, hide and lick my wounds like a kicked puppy. “So what happened to make you think differently?”

“Four years of therapy,” Liz replies bluntly. My eyes flare wide. This is yet another tidbit about Liz I didn’t know, but then, seeing how together she seems now, I don’t know why I’m surprised. “My shrink helped me to see that I was using Gavin as a substitute for what I couldn’t have with you,” she expounds evenly, “Eventually, I would have recognized that on my own and, if I didn’t leave him for it, I would have started resenting him for not being what I needed him to be. Basically, I would have found myself in the same rut I was in with you.”

“So how did you get out of it…the mindset I mean?” I ask, “And are you?”

“I definitely have a new way of looking at things. I realized I couldn’t wait for a man to bring me happiness,” she says fervently, “I had to find it on my own and be content with myself first. It seemed like a natural thing for me to look for your flaws and failings because that’s all I could see in myself. That sort of thing doesn’t make for a happy marriage, Max.”

“You’re saying you didn’t like yourself, Liz?” I query, dumbfounded by the revelation.

“I was twenty-eight years old in a dead in job, living from paycheck to paycheck,” she relates, “That’s far from the dreams I had for myself, Max. I was really dissatisfied and I took out a lot of that dissatisfaction on you. See the thing about it was…you weren’t perfect, Max…no one is but because I was unhappy…it was like I was punishing you for that fact. Instead of seeing your positive qualities, I dwelled on your negative ones. That was my mistake. So then the grass started looking greener on the other side as I found you more and more lacking.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mumble.

“What I’m saying is that I punished you for not being what I wanted then,” she presses, “And if I did it to you I know I would have eventually punished Gavin for the same thing. He was good for me and he helped me during a really hard time in my life but I don’t think I was good for him.”

“And me?” I whisper tentatively, “Were you good for me, Liz?”

“No,” she answers with brutal candor, “But then you weren’t all that great for me either. Not back then anyway. You and I had sacrificed so much to be together that I think by the time we were married we had nothing left to give each other. Our marriage became like one big life sentence in prison rather than a blessing.”

I can’t dispute her there. Many times I had felt like I was putting in hours just waiting for the payoff. Many times I had wondered when the giving would stop so that I could simply start enjoying married life. Because…I didn’t enjoy it. It was toil. As much as I treasured my life with Liz and was grateful for our love there were times when I viewed it as a burden and sometimes it felt that way.

Had Liz possibly picked up on my suppressed resentment? Were my feelings ultimately what lead to her unhappiness in the first place? I can fully believe she sensed the negativity from me, even with the distance between us. Had I, all those years before, been purposely alienating her under the guise of work? The more I think on it, the more it seems a real possibility.

“What else did your shrink tell you?” I wonder softly, hoping to glean some of the wisdom for myself as I ponder on my contribution to the downfall of our marriage.

“Well…he told me that I had lost focus in our marriage,” she says, “I either made our relationship all about you or all about me, but I never made it about us, Max. Somehow the us in our marriage got lost along the way.”

“I never made it about us either,” I mumble in guilty confession, “I certainly never made it about you, Liz, and I’m sorry.”

I can admit that to myself as well. For most of our marriage it truly was all about me. At one point I’d made an issue of my actions being a direct result of my love for her but in the last eight years I’ve come to recognize that for the excuse it was. Truly, I hadn’t been concerned with Liz’s needs or comfort at all, not at the heart. No. I was looking out for number one. Somehow I’d convinced myself that if I worked hard enough, if I pushed hard enough then that would make me worthy of Liz’s love, her sacrifices… I could finally feel like I deserved her…because I never did, not one time in the ten years we were married.

My feelings didn’t spring out of something Liz did or didn’t do, but from my own private inadequacies. In the back of my mind I always held with me the mistakes I made that year Alex died and the multitude of sacrifices Liz made for me in spite of those mistakes. Even after we married I continued to feel unworthy, as if I would spend the rest of my life proving myself.

I found that the better a wife she proved to be and the more understanding she was of my distance, the more I grew to resent her for it because her perfection inevitably uncovered my flaws. And that’s why I held her off and pushed her away…because she reminded me of the selfish idiot I had been, the man I couldn’t escape. It’s not until this very moment that I recognize that fact completely.

“What are you thinking right now, Max?” she whispers when I fall into a pensive silence.

“We should have gone to counseling,” I tell her gruffly, “We should have seen someone before the problems got so bad between us, Liz.” I shake my head in weary ruefulness. “Why didn’t we do that?”

“Maybe we thought we didn’t need it,” she considers quietly.

“And we pride ourselves on being smart,” I utter in self-recrimination.

“Book sense and common sense, Max,” she sighs, “Two completely different animals.”

“So you figured all this out in therapy?” I ask with some surprise.

“That and the occasional nip of Jack Daniels,” she says, “You’d be surprised how you can wax poetic when you’re drunk off your ass.” I stare at her aghast. “Hey! I’m entitled to pity parties, too,” she laughs, “And I had plenty of them…trust me.”

“Liz Parker…drunk,” I muse over the mental picture, “Somehow I can’t imagine it.”

“I’m not a patron saint, Max,” she sighs, “I’m flesh and blood and I fuck up just like everybody else.”

“I know that,” I whisper.

“Do you really?” she queries carefully.

“Yes, I know it,” I reply, “But, for the record, I never expected you to be perfect, Liz. Not really. I just wanted you to love me and I wanted to love you back.” It’s then that I realize how heavy the conversation has gotten between us and that’s the last thing we need. We’ve got ten days of relaxation before us and I don’t want to spend it all rehashing things neither of us can change now. I want to enjoy this time I have with her. “Okay, so we still haven’t decided about what we should do,” I say, deftly changing the subject, “Any suggestions?”

“Not much to do on a snow day except…play in it…”

I watch her eyes light with mischief and feel an answering smile spread across my lips. “Why, Miss Parker, are you’re not suggesting we romp around in the snow, are you?”

“Are you game?”

“Am I game?” I scoff in teasing disdain, “I’m a grown man, moderately successful. I have no desire to engage in such childish shenanigans and I am highly offended that you would suggest such a thing.” I say all this even as I’m rising to retrieve my coat and jacket. By the end of my snooty reply, which is in direct contradiction of my actions, Liz is collapsed face first in the sofa and giggling madly. “Just give me five minutes to suit up,” I tell her, “And then your ass is mine.”

An hour later we’re knee deep in freshly fallen snow and pitching snowballs at one another on Liz’s front lawn. She cheats, shamelessly using her powers to form the snowballs and add momentum when she throws them. Her complaint is that she’s handicapped and should be allowed the concession but I’ve seen how deft she is with that crutch. I know she’s playing me. She gets a face full of snow for her attempt. But then I get it right back. And I have to admit…my girl’s got damned good aim. She nails me at least half a dozen times more than I get her.

By the time we straggle back into the house we’re both frozen stiff from the cold and my clothes are crusted over with snow and ice. As I stand in the foyer to strip free of my coat, hat and gloves Liz heads for the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine to warm us.

“M-Maybe I sh-should take a h-hot shower,” I chatter in consideration after I’ve huddled onto the couch. Liz reenters the living room a few minutes later with a bottle of red wine tucked under her arm and two glasses. I spring up to unburden her of the load. She disappears for another moment to fetch me a blanket. I gratefully wrap myself up in the downy softness when she returns.

“You need to warm up naturally,” she advises me as she kneels down before the coffee table to carefully measure out wine into the glasses, “You could do serious damage to your muscles if you try and warm up too quickly.”

“Hmm…I forgot…my little Lizzie’s on her way to being a doctor,” I tease her. She flicks me a shy smile and, before I know it, I’m kneeling down alongside her and brushing a damp tendril of hair back from her forehead. My touch is brief, barely glancing but we both go absolutely still with the contact. Liz glances up at me with a startled gasp of surprise. However, I don’t remove my hand but instead let my fingers slide along her temples to fiddle with the soft hair there.

“Max?” She expels my name in a tremulous rush of breath.

“Why won’t you let me heal your hip, Liz?” I ask her suddenly, softly, “I know how it causes you pain. Let me make it better.” We’ve had this same discussion time and time again and she always tells me no. Even now she shakes her head in refusal. This time, however, I’m not going to let her off the hook that easily. “Why do you keep refusing me?” I charge softly.

She shrugs out my touch and stares down at the tabletop top, her cheeks staining with a faint blush. “I…I just don’t want you to…” she mumbles lamely.

“Are you afraid of what I’ll see when I connect?” I persist. She shakes her head. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” Another negative. “Then why, Liz?”

“Because you shouldn’t just be able to fix it, Max,” she mutters gruffly, offering me a sideways glance from beneath her lashes, “You live with the emotional scars of what I did every single day. The least I can do is live with the physical ones.”

“I don’t accept that, Liz,” I respond thickly, “Not at all.”

Chapter 19

“That’s not a word!”

“Yes, it is.”

I lean over the Scrabble game board to scrutinize her latest attempt at cheating. “Like hell,” I mutter, “I can’t even pronounce this. Use it in a sentence.” She does and I have to laugh out loud at her ingenuity. It’s a while before I can quell my mirth enough to talk. “Liz…sweetheart…you can’t use medical terminology.”

“Says who?”

“It’s in the rules.”

She folds her arms over her chest mutinously. “I don’t believe you.”

“Check for yourself.”

She does that as well and a few seconds later she’s left grumbling under her breath when she realizes I was right all along. “See this is why I don’t like playing with you,” she complains, “You’re always so nitpicky.”

“Uh…loo-ser,” I cough behind my hand. She gives me a playful shove and rolls upright to pour herself another glass of wine. “How many glasses have you had so far?” I murmur in concern as she takes a sip.

Liz groans. “Why are you policing me, Max? I’m hardly drunk.”

Still, I pluck the glass from her fingers before she can down it completely. “Ahh, ahh, ahh…I think you may have had enough,” I laugh, dancing out of her reach when she makes a grab for the glass.

She pouts her disappointment. “You’re such a dick, Max.”

“Thanks…I try.”

Unperturbed, Liz flashes me a brilliant smile before snagging hold of the wine bottle and taking a long, rebellious swig. “You’re welcome.”

“Don’t you know you’re supposed to pay royalty more respect than that?” I reply in mock menace.

Liz cranes her neck as she pretends to peer about the room. “Is there royalty about?” she teases wickedly, “I didn’t notice.”

I set aside her wine glass and make a running leap towards her. “Oh now you’re gonna get it, Parker!” She tries to roll away and she’s quick but not quick enough. I’ve got her pinned against the floor in a matter of seconds, intent on tickling her until she pees. As her disjointed giggles and pleas for mercy wash over me I struggle to remember the last time we played around this way. It’s been a while. I realize then just how much I’ve missed her laugh and her smile…how much I’ve missed her.

We both sense the change between us even before my tickling gradually dies off. Liz stares up at me, her dark eyes searching my features intently. I wonder what she is looking for. I wonder if she can discern my intentions. Gingerly, yet deliberately I slide my hand down her midriff, past her quivering belly, pausing only when I reach the waistband of her jeans.

Liz goes completely still beneath me. “Max, I said no,” she whispers.

“And I said I wouldn’t accept that, Liz,” I whisper back, “And I’m not. It’s all in the past now. The only person left to forgive is yourself.”

I purposely ignore her mumbled protests as I slip my hand into the waistband of her jeans and underneath the silk of her panties to curve my fingers around her bare hip. There is a brief moment when the healing becomes secondary for me, when the touch of her delightfully warm skin sends a rush of blood to my head. I’m acutely aware that not even an inch from my thumb is the sweet, warm center of her, a place I haven’t touched or even thought about touching in nearly nine years.

Liz must feel that same electric pulse because her fingers clench around my forearm reflexively and she buries her face into my chest. “Okay,” she says and I wonder what she’s agreeing to: the healing or my fierce need to touch her intimately. My mental question is answered a moment later when she squeezes my arm again. “Go ahead, Max…heal me. I won’t stop you anymore.”

When the connection flashes up between us it has the impact of a Mack truck. Her emotions hit me hard, like a tsunami and they sweep aside everything in their path. As her muscle and bone are regenerated I fall deeper inside her soul, no longer able to discern where hers begins and mine ends. I realize belatedly just how much and how long she’s been holding back from me. When the disjointed scenes start they come so furiously I can’t really distinguish them. I see myself and I see Gavin and I feel her feelings for us both. But the realization isn’t painful like I imagined it would be because in the end, when it’s all over…it ends with us. Liz and me. Her emotions, her desires all converge with us and I recognize that they always will.

Even after I’ve broken the bonding thread between us and removed my hand from her jeans Liz remains in my arms. She is trembling and so am I. Our faces are mere inches apart, our breaths mingling. “Thank you, Max,” she murmurs, her words causing arousing puffs of air to stir against my face.

The husky timbre of her voice creates an aroused stirring in me and I know I need to readjust our positions quickly or I won’t be responsible for my actions. “Liz, I--,”

I never finish the thought. When I feel her fingers curve around the back of my neck I nearly moan aloud. Yet, as she pulls me down for the kiss I know is coming, I say in warning, “If you do this then there’s no turning back, Liz.” That halts her intent but she doesn’t remove her hand from my skin. In fact, she continues to stroke my neck, causing erotic little tingles to shiver down my spine. It’s takes tremendous willpower for me to remain focused on what I must say.

“If we take this…to it’s conclusion, it won’t just be about having a good time for me, Liz,” I tell her, “I won’t accept anything less than total commitment from you.”

“Max--?”

“If you ever cheated on me again,” I continue in a throbbing whisper, “I couldn’t forgive you a second time, Liz. I couldn’t see you ever again. Do you understand?”

“I know that,” she whispers.

“I mean it,” I reiterate with gentle emphasis, “It almost killed me the first time, Liz…”

She rolls upright then, upsetting our positions so that I’m forced to sit up with her. “Do…Do you not trust me, Max?” she asks shakily.

I lift my hand to cup her cheek, letting my fingers slide down the silky plane of her cheek. “I want to trust you, Liz,” I whisper, “I want to believe you could never hurt me like that again and, for the most part, I do but… You need to understand that if we go forward this time I want it to be for keeps and what happened before can never, never happen again.”

“It won’t,” she vows, “I could never hurt you like that again, Max.”

“Or yourself, Liz,” I murmur, letting my fingers linger against her lips, “The hurting stops now…for both of us.” She nods at my emphatic words, her eyes burning into mine. “So…what do we do next?”

She smiles then and leans into me, her advance tentative as she begins to settle her lips on mine. We stay suspended like that for a moment, our lips pressed together in a profound, though sexless kiss. Liz breaks contact long before I’m ready and rests her forehead against my chin. “We don’t have to do anything,” she says gruffly, “Being close to you…that’s enough for me right now, Max.”

I gently take hold of her chin to bring her gaze to mine. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line to you?” I ask with a wry grin.

She laughs softly and ducks her face even deeper into my shirt. “I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”

“Liz, I want it,” I insist hotly, dropping my head forward to trace my lips over the silky surface of her hair, “I want you.”

“But it’s been so long,” she moans as I begin unfastening the neat row of buttons on the front of her blouse.

“For me, too,” I murmur in agreement, pressing wet, fervent kisses over the curve of her bare shoulder as I push her shirt from her body completely. Next, I reach around her to unclasp her bra but she rears back from me, her eyes wide with shock. “It’s been a while?” she questions with a frown, “But I thought you and Carrie--,”

“We’ve never slept together,” I confess sheepishly, “It was the source of many an argument between us.”

I push Liz inexorably back into the plush carpet and settle over her as she continues to stare at me in open shock. “You…you couldn’t?” she utters dubiously.

I bite back a grin. “Didn’t want to,” I clarify gruffly, burying my lips against her throat, “The last woman I made love with was…well…you.”

She lurches back from me a second time, her jaw working with disbelief and, I suspect, remorse. “Max…I…I…”

“I haven’t lived like a monk,” I tell her gently, “But I haven’t done…that either.” She lowers her eyes from mine then and I know what’s going through her mind even without her speaking a word. I duck my head low to see her face, to reassure her. “Liz, I know that you and Gavin had a…a full relationship after we broke up…”

“Max, I’m sorry--,”

“It’s okay,” I whisper insistently, “This time is about us…no one else. I don’t want anything between us, especially the past.” She says my name again, this time in a breathless moan. “Let me make love to you, Liz.” I can’t wait for her answer but begin kissing my way down her torso, eager to taste her all over. “God,” I huff, as I pull her bra completely from her body, “I want you so much.”

I’m surprised, however, when she flips me over to take full control of this encounter. She straddles over me, her naked torso exposed to me in the most arousing manner. But when I reach up to cup her breasts, to bring her closer for exploration she pins my arms over my head.

“Let me make love to you,” she says, letting her fingers drift down my body to find the edge of my shirt. Without breaking eye contact, she inches the cotton up my body and whips it over my head before tossing it away completely. My mouth goes dry as her nipples scrape against my sensitive skin but the sensation is altogether too fleeting.

Liz slowly swings upright to skate her palms over my chest, her fingernails scraping overt my aroused nipples. “I’ve missed this,” she murmurs, leaning forward to swirl her tongue over my fevered skin. Me, too. God, me, too. My eyes roll to the back of my head as the shortened strands of her hair brushes against me. I moan and bury my hands into the tousled silkiness and my body twitches as her facile tongue goes to work.

She kisses lower, her fingers working at the snap of my jeans. I clench my fists into the carpet as she eases my zipper down over my painful erection. My breath suspends in my chest as the pressure eases. But when she kisses me through the thin cotton of my boxers my toes literally curl. “Liz…” I hiss, “…please…fuck, I need you!”

At my moaned plea she throws back her head to regard me with a decidedly hungry look. “Do…do you have anything?” she asks in a heated whisper.

I blink at her through a sexual haze. “You mean like a condom?” I deduce blankly.

“Yeah…”

“Liz…no…” I groan, cursing my own stupidity, the gods, and anything else that’s going to prevent me from burying myself inside her. “I didn’t think anything like this would happen,” I gasp in frustration and then I ask in desperate hope, “Are you still on the pill?” She shakes her head and I swear I nearly cry. “Fuck me. It’s not like we can go to the store either.”

Liz gives another shake of her head. “We can’t drive in this weather, Max,” she says, “It would be too risky.”

“Fuck me.” In this situation, it warrants repeating.

Liz traces a lone finger over the ridge of my erection, her eyes darkening as she studies me through her lashes. “There are other things we could do,” she murmurs suggestively. When her insinuation dawns I nearly come right then and there.

“Liz, you don’t have to--,” I protest weakly, but she’s already easing my arousal from my shorts and I really have no desire to stop her. As her fingers stroke up and down the length of me, I swallow back my whimpering groan of pleasure. “Ever—Everything’s gonna change between us,” I warn as her mouth descends towards my body, “Are you ready?”

“That’s the general idea, Max,” she says and the last thing I see before her hair cascades down around her face is her sexy smirk of anticipation.